Man in the Making
by Queen of Kaos
Summary: Sequel to 'The Rest Will Follow.' The love of Randy's life left him for their own good. Six months later, has it benefited him at all? -You don't have to have read TRWF to understand this story.- Rated for language and some violence.
1. The More Things Change

**Man in the Making  
**Sequel to _The Rest Will Follow_

**A/N: When we last left poor Randy, he was gettin' his ass dumped on the beach by fair Tatum. This story picks up on his journey six months after that. Hope y'all Enjoy! (Same format will apply)**

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Welcome back to the _Randy Orton Show_. Also known as _Watch Randy Fuck Up His Life_ or _Can Randy Get It Together This Time or Is He Destined To Be Alone For Eternity?_ It's weird, cause six months ago, the last time I talked to y'all, things were kinda melancholy. Okay, really melancholy. I had just split up with Tatum, the love of my life, and I wasn't really sure what happened next.

"A toast to the champion?"

I mean, to be honest, who really knows what happens next in life? Even if you have a five or ten year plan for yourself, there are so many variables. You can't possibly know where you're gonna be tomorrow, let alone five years down the road, can you? You can't predict what comes next. So why try?

"Man, where's your head?"

I shake my head when I realize that Cena is at my side with two dark beer bottles. One for him, one for me. Okay, so maybe life isn't so unpredictable. I mean, six months ago, I was hangin' out in bars after shows, thinkin' about how fucked up life was and about unpredictable things were. Here I am, half a year later, doing the same damn thing. I guess that old saying is true, ya know? The more things change, the more they really do seem to stay the same.

I realize he's looking at me for an answer. That's John for ya. Always asking me some stupid question, lookin' at me like he deserves an answer. Like he's my dad. He's my best friend. He really is. But that doesn't just mean that we do everything together and enjoy hangin' out. It also means that he annoys the hell out of me like nobody else. "Just tired," I lie.

He's my best friend, so why is he the easiest person in the world to lie to? Probably because I know he doesn't believe it. It doesn't fucking matter what I tell him - he knows what I mean. Sometimes he calls me on the bullshit. Sometimes he doesn't. I guess that's why we've been friends for the better part of ten years. He just knows when to shut the hell up. Most of the time.

"I _am _pretty trying on the stamina," he puffs his chest out in reference to the match we had tonight. Bitch couldn't wear me out if he tried, but I'll let him think so. Just for tonight. Just because I don't wanna talk about it right now.

Before I can answer, a long, thin arm drapes around John's neck and his growth, I mean his wife, is at his side, her chin on his shoulder. "Oh yes, you are," she purrs, accepting his kiss when he turns his head.

Aren't couples supposed to get _less _disgusting after their married? Stop slobbin' each other down in public and shit like that? I don't think these two got the message. "Wow, that's really," I start and shake my head, "Do you have to stick your tongue down his throat every time you see him?"

Maria shrugs and rests her head on John's shoulder. "Sorry," she apologizes in that way that says she's not sorry at all. "I can't help it. I just keep getting carried away," she giggles that happy little giggle that she always has when she's with John. And when she's not. And pretty much all the damn time. Tatum used to say she was convinced that Maria was on some sort of uppers. I'm not sure she was wrong.

"Alright," I can't help smiling when he whispers something in her ear again. "I'm just gonna go get a . . . way," I point toward the bar and walk away before something I really don't wanna see starts up in the corner.

Don't get me wrong. I'm the guy who used to have no problem mounting my girl in a corner booth during a party like this. But it's been six months since I had a girl to get on top of. Really, it's been over two years since I've had a girlfriend I could really do that shit with. Tatum and I spent a year and a half apart, and even when we did get back together, we never quite got back to that point. Not to the 'hanging all over each other in public' point.

I know what you're thinking. It's been six months and I haven't found another girlfriend? How did I do it? Randy Orton didn't find a single woman who caught his eye in that time? Well, I didn't say all that. I've hooked up, but I haven't really had another relationship. For a few months, I was tryin' to do that whole, noble 'workin' on me' thing. After that, I got bored and realized that fuckin' one night stands were a lot more fun than putting myself out there in another relationship. Especially since the only two I've ever had have ended very, very badly.

Doesn't mean I don't notice when a sexy woman is around. And right now, right next to me at the bar, is the epitome of sexy. She's leaning forward on her elbows, her blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. She's not a ring rat - I can tell by the fact that she's wearing jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt instead of a mini skirt and halter. And by the fact that she barely managed to look at me out of the corner of her eye before blushing and turning back to the bar. Ring rats aren't nearly that subtle.

"Hi," I offer when she steals another look my way.

I'm used to seeing girls blush, but this one's cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink as she raises her eyes. She's surprised that I talked to her. I get that a lot. But it looks good on her, not coy or fake. "Hi," she whispers, barely audible over the eighties rock blaring throughout the hotel bar.

I think I've seen her before. "You look familiar."

She nods as the bartender brings her a tumbler of light alcohol. "Yeah," she tucks her hair behind her ear and offers me an electrifying smile. I've seen her before, but I've never seen her like this. Wow, she's beautiful. "I'm around all the time," she acknowledges, her elbow on the bar as she turns slightly toward me. It's not enough to look flirty. Just enough to let me know that it's okay to talk to her. "My boyfriend works here."

Boyfriend. Right. I know that shouldn't matter. I mean, I just noticed her, for fuck's sake. Not like I know anything about her. Not like I should care. But there's this weird feeling of disappointment in my gut. "Well, I'm Randy," I introduce and she nods as if she already knew that.

Taking the hand that I'm offering, she shakes and her skin is warm against mine. It feels right. As right as a total stranger's touch can feel. "Jamie," she speaks, her soft smile broadening. "It's nice to meet you."

Have you ever met somebody in a bar or at a concert or something? Somebody that you've never met before? Never even really seen before? And yet, you can't help wanting to know everything about them? In that one instant, you just get this feeling that there are a million fascinating stories inside their mind? That's kinda how this feels with Jamie.

Of course, I can't ask anything because a booming voice I would know in my sleep sounds from behind her. "What the hell is this?"

Jamie turns and smiles up at the man who is now protectively wrapping his arm around her waist. "Josh, Sweetie, hi," she speaks in a voice much different than the one she used with me. One of forced happiness that thinly veils fear of getting caught doing something she shouldn't have been doing. "I was just ordering another drink," she shows him her glass as if to prove her point.

To be honest, I can't blame her. I'm not scared of many people in the world, but Josh Lafferty freaks me out a little bit. He's a little smaller than me, but he's notorious for being one of the biggest asses ever to take charge of the WWE road crew. He likes things his way, and he's not afraid to cut a fuckin' kid down in front of everyone. It's not a bad quality to have - he's good at what he does, I guess. He's just a fuckin' dick about it.

"Another one?" he asks, his eyebrow shooting up to his fake-blond hairline. I wonder if he bummed that bottle offa Shelton Benjamin? What color is that anyway? It's such a weird white/yellow color, ya know? "You jealous of your mom's binges? Tryin' to catch up there, James?"

His laugh makes me wanna cringe, but the mortified look on Jamie's face makes me wanna hit something. Preferably his stupid mouth. "Dude."

"What?" he fires back without a beat. His face is suddenly serious, like he wants to fight me in front of everyone. I can't tell if he's drunk or if he's just being himself. "It's a joke," he spits in my direction, clearly not pleased with my presence. Not that I can blame him, I'd feel threatened by me, too, if I were him. "James knows it a joke, don'tcha baby?"

And I don't wanna punch him anymore. I want her to. I want her to haul off and beat his ass for everyone to see. I want her to stand up for herself. But she doesn't. She just smiles that forced, painful smile and nods. "Yeah," she answers with no passion in her voice whatsoever.

And everything I thought I wanted to know about her dissolves into the tense air around us. I spent long enough standing up for somebody who didn't give a shit to stand up for herself. Spent too fucking long trying to save somebody who decided that she could do it better on her own. Fine. She wants to take care of it herself, I'm out. "Whatever," I just roll my eyes and turn on my heel. I've been down that road. And I don't fucking care.

"What the fuck was that about?" Josh's voice carries as I make my way back through the crowd. I'd rather watch Cena dry hump his wife than watch Jamie take that shit from Lafferty. "I was gone for all of thirty seconds," his voice only raises as I move away from them. "I shoulda known you were gonna act like a whore tonight."

I'm not sure what Jamie says in response. She's not shouting for the whole bar to hear. But clearly Josh doesn't like it, because he fires back with, "Oh, now you don't want an audience? You were about suck that fucker's dick in fronta the whole bar a second ago."

My hands ball into fists without any permission from my brain. I don't fucking care, I remind myself as my shoulders stiffen. I don't fucking care enough to go back and beat the shit outta him. Even though he deserves it. I don't fucking care. Even though I'm already turning on my heel to head back and take care of his big, fucking mouth.

Until a hand presses into the center of my chest. "Don't," John's voice advises firmly.

"Don't?" I ask as I watch Josh grab Jamie's arm and drags her toward the entrance of the bar. "Are you not fuckin' seein' this shit?" This shit that I don't fucking care about?

But John just shakes his head and withdraws his hand. "Listen to me for a second." His tone is that serious one that he gets when he's trying to make sure you know he's all business. "You are the champion, man. You have fought your way back from bull shit and every other obstacle. Don't get your ass suspended over a chick you just met. Think."

I take a few breaths and think about what he says. He's right. I've worked too hard to let some shit I don't even fuckin' care about dethrone me now. I'm not gonna let this shit alter the course of my life. That dickhead and his weak-willed girlfriend are not gonna fuck my life up. I've let women do that enough. I don't fuckin' care anymore.

"I'm goin' to my room," I announce, turning around to make my exit. Let John and Maria shake their heads and talk about how sad I've seemed for the last few months. Let them plot how to fix me, how to make it all better. I don't fuckin' care.


	2. You Don't Know

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 2_

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One of my favorite things about traveling with Josh is seeing so many beautiful cities around the United States, and the rest of the world. I love being in a new place all the time, breathing in the excitement that those cities exhale when WWE is in town. It's this electricity that glows like a halo over the buildings and rivers and streets.

My favorite part of the day is right around two or three in the morning. After Josh has drifted off to sleep, I sneak out of the room and creep up to the roof, if I can get onto the roof, and I watch the city sleep. Or come to life, depending on where we are. Even in places like Vegas, New York, and Amsterdam, where people are out and about at all hours, it feels like the city is taking a break. Like it's enjoying the stillness with me.

God knows I don't have much peace any other time. And I'm sure that doesn't make a damn lick of sense. I mean, I don't have a job. Josh works long hours, and I mostly sit in a hotel room, or wander around an arena. By myself. It's not like I have a lot of fuckin' stress in my life or anything. Not any that I have any right to complain about.

Josh gets stressed, because he has a pretty huge responsibility with his job. I mean, he's responsible for making sure that the crew is coordinated for every house show and televised event. He is responsible for making sure that everything runs the way it's supposed to, and if he doesn't do his job, people could get hurt, or killed. It's a lot of pressure. And since my full-time job is being his support system, I bear a lot of that pressure, too.

It's an honor, really. I mean, of all the ways he could choose to vent his frustration or relieve his stress, he chooses to talk to me. Does he get a little loud sometimes? Sure. It's a high-profile position. He's important, and that comes at a price. Does he take things out on me sometimes? Things that I wasn't even around to witness? Yeah, but I mean, it's not a huge deal. I mean, I know he's not really angry with me, and I've got broad shoulders. I can deal with it.

Trust me, I'm not complaining. And my little trips to the roof are not an escape from him. It's just the one time that I can center my thoughts. The one time that I know my pager, cell phone, and Sidekick won't go off with some request that Josh has for me. The one time that I know I don't have to worry about him, or think about my parents worrying over me at home, or my friends who won't talk to me anymore. I don't have to think about anything.

"Hey," a deep voice interrupts my quiet time and makes me cringe. "Fancy meeting you here," Randy's rumbling baritone is low at my side when he leans his elbows next to mine on the ledge. He doesn't look at me, and I don't look at him. After tonight, he's the last person I wanna look at.

"Fancy that," I manage without rolling my eyes.

If he's put off by my demeanor, he doesn't let on. He's not exactly smiling, but he kinda rolls his shoulders like he doesn't care if I want him there or not. "You okay?"

I nod, though I'm not sure why he would even want to know. After the scene that Josh made, I was pretty sure he would never wanna talk to me again. I admit, he can come on a little strong sometimes. "I'm great," I plaster on the smile and give the pat answer. It's all I know how to do anymore.

"So," Randy finally speaks into the silence that settles over us. "Josh Lafferty is your boyfriend, huh?"

I'm used to the disdain in wrestlers' voices when they say Josh's name. He hasn't gotten to his place in the company by being a nice guy, and he hasn't exactly made friends with everyone. "Goin' on three years now," I respond as though I don't notice the tone in his voice.

He doesn't say anything for a minute and I can't help wondering what he's thinking. I don't want to care, but I always wonder what people think. Some people tell me. My parents tell me that I'm breaking their hearts, being with someone who treats me like his personal assistant. My friends tell me that he's an abusive dick. Or they did, when they were still talking to me. What could Randy possibly be thinking?

He just shakes his head. "Gotta tell ya, when I met you? I didn't see it coming," he lets out a breath and turns, his elbows now behind him against the ledge. "That guy's such an ass, ya know?"

"Some people think you're an ass, too," I shoot back before I can stop myself. I'm not a vindictive person. I don't usually say hurtful things. To anyone. But I don't take really well to anyone trashing the man that I care about.

He doesn't deny it. Only nods. "That is true," he concedes.

And I do what I always do when I've shot my mouth off without thinking. I cave. Josh says I'm too weak to stick to my guns. That's why I need him. He sets his mind on something and he doesn't waver. Doesn't cave. Doesn't buckle. He's strong when I'm not. "Look," I sigh, shaking my head and allowing my eyes to rest on the sparkling city beneath me, "Josh isn't a bad guy. He gets a little unruly when he drinks," I start to explain.

"I'm sure that shit works on other people, Jamie," Randy shakes his head. I guess he doesn't wanna hear what I have to say. Great. He's another one of **those** guys. "I see him every day. He's not a good guy. And tonight? That wasn't fuckin' unruly. That was borderline abusive. And 'borderline' is being generous."

So he thinks he knows. Just like everybody else, he thinks he knows what goes on behind closed doors. A guy has an ego at work, and gets a little worked up in a bar and he must be a girlfriend beater, right? Is that what you think, too? That Josh beats my ass? "Who the hell do you think you are? What gives you the right to judge my relationship?" I lash out once again. I'm so tired of people thinking that he's some monster. I love him, dammit. I wouldn't fall in love with a monster.

He's not afraid of my outburst, though. In fact, he looks somewhat encouraged by it. Enlivened by the prospect of a fight. "I'm not judging. I'm just saying it might be a touch unhealthy," he defends.

"You don't know anything about us, Randy," I fight back. What the hell? I haven't had a good argument in awhile. Not one where I was allowed to talk, too. Could be fun. "You don't know a damn thing."

He huffs, like he's amused almost. "I don't know a damn thing? About unhealthy relationships? I know about unhealthy."

"Not mine," I fire back. I don't like being talked down to and I don't like being laughed at. "Until tonight, you didn't even know my name, Randy. You didn't know a fucking thing about me, and you still don't."

And he holds up his hands. He's breakin' already? I was just getting started. Well, that's disappointing. "You're right." He shakes his head lets out a heavy sigh. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I was out of line."

Great. He apologized. Now I'm the bitch if I don't do the same. Running a hand through my hair, I lower my eyes. "I'm sorry," I mumble. I am. Sorry that I lashed out. Sorry that I couldn't hold it in. Josh says that a woman who lashes out is a woman who lacks control in every area of her life. Maybe he's right. "It's just been a long night."

He doesn't need me to tell him about the tongue-lashing I got when we returned to the hotel room from the bar. He doesn't need to know about the tears. Nobody needs to know. Control. That's the most important thing. Control. Conceal and control. Nobody else would understand it anyway.

"Alright. I'm gonna leave you to the city," he says and I can't explain it, but my heart jumps just a little bit. It's like he understands why I'm here, why I need this, without me having to tell him. Without me having to explain it. I don't know if anybody has ever . . . No, I can't think that way. I can't. "But if you wanna talk," he goes on, his fingers brushing my elbow softly, "you know where to find me."

And with that, he's gone. I'm alone with the stillness and the silence. Except that nothing inside of me feels peaceful at the moment.


	3. Here We Go Again

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 3_

**A/N: Alright, so I know I kinda flipped the script on y'all by introducing a new female lead in this story, but I thought it was important to the authenticity of the story. Sometimes you break up with someone, and you set your sites on someone else. It's the way life works, and for this part of Randy's journey, it's important for him. I don't think you'll be disappointed, but I hope that you'll give Jamie the same chance you gave Tatum. Thanks, and Enjoy!**

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There's nothing I love more than a really great book. Alright, so I know you're not buyin' that shit, are ya? There are plenty of things I love more than any kind of book, great or not. But right now, reading a book is better than sitting back and doing nothing. The entertainment business seems exciting from the outside, but on the inside it's full of 'hurry up and wait.'

The show starts at 7:30. I had to be at the arena at 1:00. Six and a half hours. I know you think that I have some workouts and rehearsals and all this business shit to do during those six and a half hours, but you would be wrong. By the time we reach the upper tier of this business, most of us have enough experience, and ring know-how to get in there and wing it. Especially at house shows. And especially since Cena and I have been in a program together for the better part of a year. Practice, at this point, is just another chance at injury.

So they shove my ass in the make up chair, and then I have to find other things to keep me occupied until I have to lace my boots up five hours later. Some of the guys are watchin' a movie. Others are eating. Some are having in-depth conversations about trunks versus tights or some shit. I'm not in the mood for any of that, so I'm hangin' out in the empty arena seats, reading and trying to get my head together. Gotta be focused so I don't kill my best friend, or myself, in the ring.

"Jesus, man," John huffs as he flops into the seat beside me. I purposely chose a seat midway up, so nobody would try to climb up here and find me. Of course, there's really nowhere to hide when someone in this place wants to find you, so I guess it was my bad to think that I could be alone.

I just lower my book and cast a sidelong glance at the man next to me. "Where's your better half?" Since their wedding six months ago, it's like an anomaly to see either John or Maria without the other. I thought they got stuck together on their honeymoon and were just too embarrassed to tell anybody, but she's not here now, so I guess I was wrong.

John's face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Playboy shoot," he nods as though it's the greatest thing that ever happened. Maybe it is. Not that I'll ever admit wanting to see my boy's wife naked, but I'm not gonna ask Playboy to hold my subscription for a month or nothin'. Of course, I ain't about to tell him that, so I just nod. "So why you up here sulkin' for, man?"

"Not sulking," I correct, holding my book up for him to peruse. His eyebrow just shoots up in disbelief. "What? You don't believe I'm reading?"

His enormous shoulder shrugs and he takes the book from my hands, examining the cover. "I just didn't know you could," he states, handing it back to me. "But who am I to doubt Hooked on Phonics, right?"

I'd like to smack him in the back of the head with this hard cover piece of confusing shit novel, but I just smirk. "You're funny," I shoot back.

And another shrug. "I get that a lot," he says under his breath and then cleared his throat. "So what are you really doin' up here?" I don't even say shit, just look back at the floor of the arena, where the crew is hard at work, constructing the ring. And John turns his head to follow my eye line. "Oh."

Oh? What the fuck does that mean? It means that he knows I'm not tryin' to read a fuckin' book. When I say John knows me, I mean that he fuckin' knows shit about me when I don't even say the shit out loud. He knows how to pick the sexy-ass blonde out of the multitude of crew members and know that she's the one I'm sitting up here to watch. "Her name is Jamie," I admit. What's the point in denying it? "She's Josh Lafferty's girlfriend."

I can't really blame John for the hiss of air that he pulls through his teeth. I know exactly what it means and he's not wrong. "You sure know how to pick 'em, don't you, man?"

"It's not like I planned this, ya know?" I defend myself. It's true - I didn't plan this. I didn't want to meet anybody that I couldn't stop thinking about. I wasn't asking for this shit. And I surely didn't ask for her to be in some kind of fucked up relationship.

John doesn't say anything and I turn my eyes back to the floor where Josh's voice enters the arena before he does. He's barking at the crew like he's the most important person in the company. He snaps his phone shut and calls somebody a dumb ass. And then he makes his way to Jamie and hands her this jumbo cup of frozen coffee.

That's not a big deal, I guess. I mean, most of it's not out of the ordinary. I can't tell you how many times I've been workin' through somethin' in the arena, blocking for a televised show or whatever, and he's disrupted my fuckin' concentration with his incessant yelling. And let me tell you this, regardless of how important he seems to think he is? He's not irreplaceable or nothin'. Sure, he's in charge of coordinatin' shit, but it's not like any of those crew kids couldn't do his job in his absence. I think he knows it. And I think that's why he's so damn irritating.

"She don't exactly look miserable, dude," John comments.

And that's the thing that pisses me off. I mean, it's not unusual for Josh to act like a fuckin' tool - but he humiliated her in front of an entire bar full of people that see her on a daily basis. I saw her on that roof, ya know? She was nearly in tears. Of course, she didn't say that, but nobody's that defensive if there's not something goin' on behind the scenes.

And yet, today? He brings her a cup of fucking coffee and she squeals and throws her arms around him like it's a diamond ring. Yesterday, I saw her in the hotel lobby, sportin' this super-sexy red dress. She was so smokin' hot. Until she started telling me about how Josh had been working so much lately that he felt like he had been neglecting her, so he was taking her to some fancy restaurant to make it up to her. She said it like I should be happy for her, like I didn't see right through the bull shit.

"It's not like she's gonna act like there's anything wrong in front of people," I say without thinking, my blood pressure rising at the sight of his hands sliding down over her ass. He's groping her in front of his entire crew. Professional. Bet Vince would be impressed.

There's a heavy sigh at my side and I know that John's going to lay it on me. By now, I'm sure y'all know how much I love unsolicited advice, right? "Weren't you gonna take some down time Post-Tatum?" he asks.

What does he call the last six months? How long does down time take? Of course, I can't ask him that because that would imply that I actually give a damn about Mrs. Lafferty down there. "Didn't say I wanted to marry her or nothin'," I answer instead. "Just think she's hot." John may do a lot of things well, but hiding his emotions isn't one of them. The skepticism is written all over his face. "She's in over her head, man," I add, knowing that's what he wants to hear.

"And you're gonna do what?" he fires back. "You gonna ride in there on your white horse and save the day?"

Dude, why does he always have to act like I'm a retarded circus monkey? Why do people think that I can't tell my ass from my own damn elbow? "Thought I might just try to be a friend? Does everything have to be about sex with you?"

John shakes his head and holds up a finger. "First of all, the fact that you jumped from white horse to sex makes me wonder about the freaky shit hidin' in your perverted closet. That kink aside, I know you're gonna do what you're gonna do." Standing, he cracks his knuckles and tucks his hands in his pockets. "If Josh is more than an asshole crew chief? If he's really beatin' her or some shit like that? Being friends might not help the situation, ya know?"

I lean back in my chair, just in case he was under the mistaken impression that I was going to follow him or something. "I can handle it, man," I tell him with more confidence than I really feel.

I mean, I hadn't thought about it like that. Josh is so far down the list of people in the world that I'm scared of, somewhere just above the ECW roster and below those chicks from Rock of Love. But that doesn't mean that Jamie's not scared of him. I just wanna help her see that she doesn't need him. Not help her get her ass beat.

John leaves after letting me know that he'll catch me later, and I let my eyes drift back to the woman perched on the guard railing, happily sipping at her coffee and waving at her asshole boyfriend every time he turns to make sure she's still there.

Yeah. I'm definitely going to have to be careful. But I really do think that I can handle this. And if I'm right, Jamie and I might both find the healing that we need. If I'm wrong . . . well, I can't be wrong, can I?


	4. Resisting Unnecessary Temptation

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 4_

* * *

Sometimes, I miss having a job. When Josh suggested I quit mine to start traveling with him, since we didn't get that much time together due to his schedule, I thought it was a sweet idea. I mean, most of you probably get to see your significant others all of the time, right? That's what we want in relationships, isn't it? I mean, you wouldn't choose to be with someone if you didn't, at the very least, WANT to be around them all of the time.

So I quit my job and packed my stuff and started following him around the country. I'm sure it sounds pretty sick to you feminists or whatever. I mean, foregoing a career as a radio producer to follow a man around the country? A couple of years ago, it would have sounded crazy even to me. But I love Josh. And I love knowing that he wants to spend time with me, that he can't bear being away from me. I think it's sweet.

Except when he decides that I need to do something productive. Today, one of the sound techs is out sick, so I'm sorting microphones, making sure the right chords are hooked up to the right mics. I don't mind it. Gives me something to do, so I can't complain. I like to pitch in where I can, but I'm not a huge fan of busy work. And I can't help being a little bit worried that I might do it wrong. I've seen guys get on television with dead mics, and I've seen Josh flip out over it. I really don't want that vengeance aimed at me.

"Jamie," a deep voice sounds behind me and I can't help jumping just a little bit.

Turning, I smile slightly at Randy, but I can't help hoping to hell that Josh doesn't come around the corner. He's been strangely suspicious of Randy since that night at the bar. I can't say I blame him. I mean, I'm sure it looked strange when he came out of the bathroom and found us talking. I mean, yeah, there were a lot of other people around, but I was talking to him exclusively. So I can see where it might have looked bad.

And then the other day, in the lobby of the hotel when I was waiting for him get the car for dinner? I can see how he might have misinterpreted the way that Randy was telling me how nice I looked. I mean, it's always nice to hear that you look good, especially from a guy as hot as Randy, but it's not like I have any kind of feelings for him. I'm in love with Josh, ya know? And I know that he knows that. I just have to make sure that I don't put myself into these compromising situations.

"Hey, Randy," I greet him as cordially as I can. Just because I don't want to encourage him, I don't want to be rude, either. I mean, Josh has to work with these people. I don't want him to get a bad name because his girlfriend is bitchy, ya know?

He tucks his hands into his pockets and stands at my side, careful not to touch me, but close enough to let me know that he's here. Like I couldn't smell his cologne before he even spoke. "How's it goin'?" he asks casually, as though we've been best friends forever.

"Good," I nod, my eyes trained on the task before me. I can't let him distract me from the job that Josh has given me to do. "How are you?"

He runs his fingers over the chord closest to him and clears his throat. "Things are good," he answers.

Does he want something? Why is he still standing here? He couldn't just ask me how I was doing and then quietly move on? He has to keep lurking? Like a stalker? It's starting to get creepy. "Glad to hear it," I say, just in case he was waiting for a response before moving on.

"Ya know what I was thinkin' about?" he asks out of nowhere. Jesus, he's not going away. He needs to go away. Like now. Before that cologne becomes permanently implanted in my nose. Is it wrong that I think he smells better than Josh? Yeah, that's bad. I don't need to think that. "I think I remember the first time I saw you," he chuckles. "Hot. You looked hot."

Alright. This has officially gone too far. But how do I let him know that without sounding rude? I mean, I don't want to hurt his feelings. He's a nice guy. Randy's been so nice to me lately. I don't wanna make him think that I don't want to talk to him anymore. Even though I don't. So I just keep my eyes trained on the table. Looking at him might encourage him to hang around. "I was supposed to meet Josh, but he was in a meeting or something," I recall, so he doesn't feel like the only one who remembers that day. "I saw you," I confirm, risking a look at the smug little smirk on his full lips. Not full. Just lips. They aren't full or remotely attractive. Not at all. "Kinda creeped me out the way your eyes were on me." Maybe he'll get the hint? I can hope, right?

"Not the only thing I wanted to have on you," he mumbles under his breath, causing me to drop the mic in my hands.

I fumble to pick it up off the floor and shovel my hair out of my face. I can tell that I'm blushing and that's not acceptable. If Josh were to walk around the corner right now? Well, that would be bad. "Randy," I start to tell him that he has to lay off, but he just holds up his hands in defense.

"Sorry. That was inappropriate," he apologizes, stuffing his strong hands back into his pockets. It's the cutest innocent expression that sweeps over his chiseled face. He really is just extremely attractive. Not that I should be noticing that. "So, where you from, Jamie?"

Jesus, when is the guy gonna get the point? I'm not fucking interested. "What are you doing?" I ask, firmly placing the microphone back on the table and staring at him. Subtlety is not going to cut it with Mr. 'I Can Fuck Anyone I Want' Orton.

"Tryin' to get to know you," he answers simply, as though his intentions are obviously pure. Pure my ass. The only thing pure about Randy Orton is his charm, and it's starting to piss me off.

"Why?" I demand, my hand on my hip while the other clutches my errant microphone against the table. "Why would you possibly want to get to know me better, Randy?" Okay, the innocent shit isn't so cute anymore. It's annoying. He's not stupid, and he knows better. "I'm not available," I spell it out for him. "You're not gonna score. My pants are firmly affixed to my waist for everyone but Josh."

His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip as his eyes drift to the jeans. "That's not your waist," he nods and I hitch my pants up off of my hips, fighting against the flush that rushes over me at his gaze. "Look," he takes a step back. "Maybe I just wanna be friends," he says.

"Why?" I ask again. I know I'm being difficult, but he has got to get the point. And he's got to get it before Josh comes back.

Randy just laughs. "What? Now I need a reason to be friends?"

"With a random nobody that you didn't even notice until the other night at the bar? Yeah, you kinda do," I nod, my mouth fixed in a firm line. He's not going to break me. He can't. We can't be friends. I can't even call the friends I already . . . it just wouldn't work.

But Randy takes it like he takes everything else. In perfect, super-cool stride. Like he's completely unaffected by my rejection. Or like he didn't hear me. Maybe he's deaf. Too much blunt-force trauma maybe? "Look, the few times we've talked, this time excluded, you've seemed sweet. And I really don't see you talkin' to too many people around here," he glances around, as though I didn't realize that I had been relegated to the most remote corner possible. "Just thought maybe you could use a friend. Unless Josh won't let you."

Oh, I really hope he doesn't think he's smooth. He's an asshole. Josh was right. He's an ass. The rumors are true and the guy I so desparately wanted to believe was better than that, turned out to be exactly the kind of jackass I was warned he would be. "Ya know what?" I take a deep breath and shake my head, going back to the sorting I had been perfectly fine to work on before he showed up. "It IS because of Josh," I confirm, angrily flipping the on and off switch to one of the cordless mics. "But it's not like you think. I am in a committed relationship," I remind him, slamming the microphone back to the table. "With a man that I love more than anyone in the world." Can he see my hand shaking as I fight to pick up another chord? "I just don't think that a friendship with another man is appropriate." Risking a glance into his crystal, blue eyes, I rake my fingers through my hair. "It's just unnecessary temptation." Shaking my head, I heave another sigh. "I'm sorry."

I really am. I'm sorry that we can't be friends. I'm sorry that I can't get a chance to find out if that asshole thing is an act, like I think it might be, or if it's really who he is. I'd like to find out if we have shit in common, or if it's just this damn attraction that I have no business feeling. But I can't. I can't entertain so much as a smile across the room from him. It's not fair to Josh.

He looks like he wants to say something, but he just shrugs and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me, Jamie," he says, giving me one last wink before turning on his heels to walk away.

I do know where to find him. Right at the back of my mind, where he's going to have to sit until I can push him the rest of the way out. Josh takes care of me. He's good to me. He needs me. To balance him. To calm him. To take away his stress. I love Josh. Randy's just gonna have to deal with that.


	5. The Right Thing vs The Sure Thing

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 5_

* * *

So let me give ya a time line. It's been almost a month since Jamie told me off at that microphone table in Des Moines. I know it's probably shocking to you, but I've kept my distance. It's been hard, and I haven't given up completely. I mean, I still smile at her when I see her around. Still wave and try to let her know that the offer for a friendship still stands.

But I've been thinking a lot about what John said that day back in the arena. I don't wanna push too hard. Don't wanna overstep my bounds. And I sure as hell don't wanna put Jamie in any kind of danger. So instead, I've been doing whatever I can to keep my mind off of her. Off of the entire situation.

Tonight I'm in Vegas and there's only one way I can think to distract myself. When Carlito and a couple of the other guys mentioned that they were going to hit a club just off the strip, I politely declined the offer to join them. But sitting in my room and drinking myself into oblivion didn't seem very Vegas, either. I thought about calling a hooker, but even I'm not that desperate. I mean, look at me? Do ya really think I need to pay for it?

"Hey, Randy."

Oh, I don't need a hooker. "Hey, Candace," I smile. She's grinning like she does when she's drunk. "Lookin' hot, baby," I add, tipping my beer bottle to my lips. I knew that the hotel bar would be the best place to find some company for the evening.

Pressing her breasts against my side, she runs a fingernail down my neck. "What're ya drinkin'?"

Jesus, she's sexy. I know some of y'all think she's a whore, but dammit if I don't care. The way she wears, or doesn't wear, those tiny outfits? She wouldn't normally be my type - to pretty, too perfect - but tonight? She's exactly the type I am lookin' for. "Guinness," I answer her, showing her the half-full glass in my hand.

Withdrawing slightly, her nose crinkles. She looks like a bunny. "Ew," she shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "It's a good thing you're fine," she adds, her eyes fixated on mine as the rest of the people in the bar fade away. I can still hear them. I know they're there. But she's not about to let me look at any of them.

"How you doin', Candi?" I ask. I should know. I see her damn near every day, but we don't really talk. Candace and I aren't what you could really call friends. She's more of a . . . well, a distraction. And since that's what I'm lookin' for, I'm thinkin' I should make the most of the situation.

She just nods and runs her fingernail down the front of my shirt, her acrylic nail clicking against the buttons. "Course," she licks her lips and allows her dark eyes to drift over me. "I'd be better if someone got me out of here."

I don't mean to be mean, but it's not that hard to make the most of a situation with Candace. I may come off as an ass sometimes, but I'm not a dick. I don't like to be disrespectful, but this girl can only be described as 'easy.' I would feel worse about calling her that, but she's the one who informed me of it in the first place. "Smooth," I allow my lips to twitch into a slight smile.

She just shrugs it off. "Subtlety's not really my strong suit, ya know? So you wanna go or what?"

For just a minute, I think about telling her that I don't want to. I always seem to have this crisis of conscious with her, but this time? It doesn't last long. This is what I want. This is why I came down to the bar in the first place. "Let's go," I say, resting my glass on the bar behind me.

"Just let me settle my tab," she winks and pushes off of my chest before swishing away.

"Hey," another, softer voice sounds at my elbow.

Turning harshly, I eye up the sight beside me. "Jamie," I say, unable to tear my eyes from the thigh-length dress she's wearing. Is this the same girl I've been trying not to think about for the last month? Is this really my Jamie? "You look amazing," I finally manage to choke out when she flashes me that undeniable smile.

With a soft, pink blush, she averts her eyes and then looks back at me through lowered lashes. "Thanks," she accepts sweetly, as if she'd never told me to step off.

"Are you alone?" I ask, noting that I haven't heard Josh's boisterous voice, or seen his idiotic face yet.

Nodding, she twists her hands together and bites her lip, checking the door as though she's afraid of getting caught out without permission. "Yeah," she finally confirms. "Josh is out with the guys at some casino."

It's different when she looks at me. Different than it was when Candace looked at me just a few minutes ago. Nothing else exists. Nobody else mills around us. Her dark eyes fix on mine and I can't see another breathing soul. Her eyes are so deep. So full of pain. Even when they twinkle, they're hiding so many secrets that she doesn't want to expose.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she points over my shoulder. "Your date is waiting," she grins softly.

I shake my head. I'd like nothing more than to stay with her, to forget all about Candace and Josh and everything else. Especially with her seeming so friendly. Open. I could make some headway here. Maybe. "Right," I nod. Fuck, I wanna stay. But something is telling me not to push. Not to try too hard. "Well, you really do look really great, Jamie," I say as she waves with her fingers and turns back to the bar.

I fight not to look back as I meet Candace at the door. "Who's the vixen?" she asks, her eyes drinking in the beauty that is Jamie tonight.

But I just shake my head and put a hand on Candace's back, ushering her away from the scene. If I don't go now, I won't. And I need to. "Jamie? She's a friend."

With a throaty laugh, Candace's dark hair flows down her back. Apparently there is a joke that I don't know anything about. "No, she's not," she finally says.

"She's not?" I mean, I know that Jamie and I are not really friends, but Candace can't possibly know that.

She just shakes her head and turns her gaze back to the woman now nursing a beer alone at the bar. "That is not a friend look on your face, Randy Orton," she finally says when she looks back at me.

I lead her away from the door of the bar, knowing that if I don't tear myself away, I'll never leave. I won't be able to, no matter how many times I tell myself that I should. That I have to. "So what kind of look do I have, Candi?" I ask, stopping near the elevators. I lean against the wall and she stands before me, arms crossed in a way that pushes her breasts up to her chin. At least, it seems like they're at her chin.

"This," she licks her lips and runs her palm over the side of my face, "is an 'I'd rather be talking to her than fucking you tonight' look." My eyebrow shoots up, not because she's wrong, but because I don't want her to think that she's right. "I'm not complaining," she shrugs, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Damn, she's hot. Have I mentioned that? "Just like I didn't complain when you used me to fuck Tatum out of your system."

Yeah, I did that. And I'm not proud of it. In fact, I've felt bad about it more than once since that night about eight months back. I tried to warn her the last time, but I'm not sure my words and my body were in agreement as to just how bad an idea it was. "I told you last time," I start to apologize again.

But she doesn't really want to hear it. She puts her index fingers into the pockets of my jeans and presses her chest against mine. Not only is she one of the hottest chicks I've ever seen, but she smells like champagne and strawberries. "I know, Randy," she whispers, standing up on her toes to press her soft lips to mine. God, it's hard to remember why we're not already in my room. "And I'm going to tell you the same thing tonight that I told you back then. I'm horny as fuck when I'm drunk. And you're the hottest guy in the bar."

Last time, that was all she had to say. But last time, Jamie wasn't sitting alone at the bar. Last time, I didn't have to wonder if I would ever get another chance to talk to her without Josh hovering around. Last time, I was trying to convince myself that I didn't need Tatum. That I didn't want her anymore. This time, I know that it would be the same thing. Me tryin' to fuck Jamie out of my system. Candace may not think twice about it, but how many times can I wake up the morning after and not care?

"Look, I just want get laid, but I'm not sure that's good enough for you," she tucks her hair behind her ears as she steps back and shrugs again. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a complete whore," she chuckles when my eyebrow shoots up. "What? I'd kinda like to know that we're both havin' a good time, ya know?"

God, I wanna be noble. I wanna admit that she's right, that I would rather be taking advantage of my chance at some time with Jamie. But let's be brutally honest for a minute, okay? Jamie's still with Josh. Any conversation that we have will either make me fall further for her, or scare her into pushing me further away. Maybe both. Is it really worth it? When I have Candace ready, willing, and waiting right here in front of me? Is taking a chance worth it when I have a sure thing right here?

"Look," I shoot her my best 'Orton' grin and rest a hand on her hip. "She has a boyfriend, okay? One who will probably come sweeping in to throw her over his shoulder and carry her, kicking and screaming, from the room very soon." I know it's not the noble thing, but right now? I'd rather have the sure thing.

But Candace isn't feeling it anymore. With a good-natured smile, she nods toward the bar. "Then I suggest you go talk to her before this big, bad-ass boyfriend comes back and she turns into a pumpkin or whatever."

Fuck. Am I ever going to figure women out? Do they want me to be the easy lay when they're ready to get fucked? Or do they want me to be the knight in shining armor? What am I supposed to do? Maybe I should just go gay. Guys can't be this hard to figure out, can they?

Candace is already on her cell phone, makin' a booty call to get what she wants for the night. All that's left is for me to go get what I really want. So I walk back into the bar. I've done everything that I can to give her the space that she told me she wanted, but I'm not sure that's the way to go anymore. I'll never know if she'll let me in if I don't take the unguarded shot that I've got right now.

I slide onto the stool at her side and motion for the bartender. "Hey," I say as easily as I can. I don't want to scare her off. I did that already, and I don't like how it turns out.

She jumps slightly, but then relaxes when she turns to see me. Yeah, that's a normal reaction. "Hey," she smiles instinctively. If I wasn't so damned paranoid, I would assume that she was happy to see me.

"Can I buy you a drink?" I ask as the bartender makes his way to us. Candace is hot, but Jamie is breath-taking. So feminine and fragile. So delicate. So perfect for me. I know I'm not supposed to be thinking that way, but she just is.

For a minute, I think she's going to tell me again that it's not a good idea. She opens her mouth and her eyebrows knit together in concern. And then, as quickly as she cringed, she relaxes and the smile is back. With a nod, she looks at the bar and then back at me. "Yeah, Randy, you can. That would be great."


	6. Possession

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 6_

**A/N:** This chapter wasn't easy to write, and parts of it will not be easy to read. It's not a tissue alert, just be warned that it might get a little uncomfortable.

* * *

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What a complete disaster this night has turned out to be. What the hell was I thinking? How in the fuck did I think that it was going to work? What the hell is wrong with me?

It started innocently enough. Josh has been super stressed out this week. He's always crazy during the week of a pay per view. He has a lot of long meetings, and with the other every day stuff that he has to deal with, he gets really tense. He's been snippy, but I think that's understandable. Everyone gets a little short when they're under a lot of pressure, right?

So anyway, No Way Out was tonight, and now that it's over, he was ready to blow off some serious steam. A couple of the guys from the crew decided that they were gonna play some poker on the Strip, so I was relegated to our room while he unwound. Of course, I understand that he needs his time away. He needs to take a break sometimes, without me breathing down his neck. I can hang out at home while he goes out - it's not a big deal.

But what would be even better than relieving your stress with a few rounds of poker? How about coming home to your dolled-up girlfriend, all sexified and ready to do whatever it takes to make you relax? So I found this little black dress that I bought a few months back and never got a chance to wear. I took a shower, and my make up was perfect. Dress looked great and I felt like a siren. Josh was gonna flip his lid.

But the longer I sat in the room, the longer I started to think. About how I would greet him when he walked through the door. What I would say. What I would do. I started to play the evening out in my head, and I started to feel silly. I'm not a porn star. I'm not the girl who meets her guy at the door in a slinky dress with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other.

A drink. That would make it easier. That's what I thought. Since I was already dressed up, I just decided to slip down to the hotel bar, grab one drink, maybe a bottle of something, and head back to the room. I'd still be waiting for Josh, and he'd be none the wiser, right?

Except that half the roster was in the hotel bar. We're in fucking Vegas, for fuck's sake. There are a million places they could have partied. Why the hotel? And why did Randy have to be there? Looking amazing and smelling as good as he always does? I thought I was saved from any errant thoughts when he left with Candace. And then he came back.

And then he bought me a second drink. And then a third. I've always been a girl who can hold her liquor pretty well - I guess that's a perk to having a mom with a drinking problem - so I'm fine, even after three drinks. A little foggier than usual, but not drunk. Definitely not drunk enough to forget that it's been three hours since I left the room. Fuck.

It's not like I did anything wrong. I mean, Randy and I just talked, but still. I mean, Josh asked me to stay in the room. He asked me to stick around, and even though I kept an eye on the door, to make sure that he hadn't come in yet, I'm pretty sure he's going to know that I didn't do as I was told.

Sliding the key into the door, I hold my breath. I watched from the bar. I didn't see him come in. But there was that one song. The one song that Randy asked me to dance to. I wanted to say no, I really did. But his smile . . . shit, I should have said no. What if Josh is already home? Then what?

Fortunately, the room is still when I slip in. Shutting the door quietly, I tip toe into the bedroom and look around. Everything is just as I left it. Oh, thank God. It's two in the morning, but it's Vegas, so he may not come home until the sun comes up. I cast a look at myself in the mirror. Everything's still perfect. Still in place.

I take a cigarette from my pack on the dresser and light it, lowering myself to the window ledge. This was a stupid idea. My heart is pounding, I'm paranoid as fuck, and I could still have three hours to wait before I even see Josh. Would he feel guilty if I fell asleep in this outfit? If he came home and found me all dressed up for him, but asleep from waiting, would it bother him? Would he even care that I had been sitting at home all night, waiting for him, while he was out gambling away our money? His money. Whatever.

The thing is, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't care. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't even notice. Or he would get mad at me for not staying awake. I don't complain, because I know his life is stressful. I really don't want to be another concern. But sometimes it's frustrating, ya know? To feel like I'm putting everything I have into this relationship, that I've sacrificed everything for him, but he's never going to notice.

When the door clicks, I shake my head and extinguish my cigarette in the ashtray at my side, pulling my hair over my shoulders. I can't think like that. I love him. He knows that. And he appreciates it in his own way. He doesn't have to say it.

He shuts the door and tosses his keys onto the table without so much as a glance up. I just shift my weight and take a deep breath, fiddling with my hair. I'm sure I look like one of those girls who's anxiously waiting for her crush to notice her in the hall at school. That's how I feel.

He glances at me on his way to the bed and just shakes his head. "What the fuck are you wearin'?" he asks grouchily as he flops onto the mattress and reaches for the television remote. I don't say anything, just try to swallow the lump in my throat. It was stupid to think that this was a good idea in the first place. "Oh well," he shrugs, still studying the passing shows on the television instead of looking at me. "Maybe you can go earn back the money I lost."

I don't know what he's talking about. I can barely hear him. My heart is pounding in my ears. He doesn't like it. Randy said I looked amazing. He even said I was breath taking when we were dancing. Josh doesn't even want to look at me. "Huh?" I manage to squeak out, fighting like hell to keep the tears at bay.

"You look like a fuckin' hooker, James," he spits, dropping the remote and finally turning to look at me. But it only lasts for a second and then he shakes his head again, like it hurts him to look at me for too long. "Dammit, are you really as stupid as you look in that get up? Do I have to spell everything out for you?"

I want to disappear. I want to fall through the floor. I want to die right there in front of him. I want to show him how deeply his words cut, but even as I think that, I know it wouldn't matter. I just want to escape to the roof. To get away. "I'm taking a walk," I whisper, reaching for my purse. I can't meet his eye.

He huffs and turns the television off. "Didn't I ask you to stay in the room tonight?" he asks. What? Does he know that I didn't? Is he implying that he knows what I was doing? Of course he doesn't know. He couldn't. "You're not goin' anywhere dressed like that."

A wave of relief washes over me. So much so that I can't help the giggle that escapes my lips. Of course, laughter when Josh is upset isn't the best idea, because he automatically thinks I'm laughing at him. "I'm just gonna walk up and down the hall for a minute," I assure him, a smile in place of the rejected puppy look I had a moment ago. I can't help smiling. Hey may be pissed off about whatever, probably about losing money, but I can deal with that. It's not nearly as bad as it would be if he knew what I really did tonight.

Of course, the smile doesn't sit well with Josh. To him, it says that I don't respect him. Or I don't care that he's upset. Or that I don't love him anymore. I've learned over time that my mood needs to match, or be worse, that his at all times. If he's happy about something, I should be happy for him, but never try to match his enthusiasm. If he's upset, I have no business being happy. He's never said that, of course, but I'm observant enough to know the rules.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asks when I can't lose the smile. I'm trying, honestly, but I'm so excited to have gotten away with something that I can't contain it. I don't know why I have this giddy feeling, like that time I told my mom I was spending the night with Jenna Doud, and then spent the entire night in the back seat of Tyler Morgan's dad's car? That's how I feel now. My mom never found out about that, either, and it was like pulling off an Ocean's Eleven-esque heist. "Where's my sweet girl?"

He's moving toward me, and I'm not even scared. Even though he looks angry. Even though I can tell he's not happy with me, I'm not scared. "I'm right here," I tell him, feeling somewhat empowered by the secret I'm carrying. I can't really explain it to you, other than to say that it feels like I have something of my own again. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I had something of my own to cling to? "I'm always right here, Josh," I add. "Always waiting for you. Right here."

Okay, so maybe I'm pushing it now. I don't know - I'm not really thinking before I speak. I'm just saying whatever pops into my head. I'm not stupid - I know it's dangerous. But I'm riding a wave that I can't explain.

Of course, I can't be happy when Josh isn't. The glower on his face tells me that much as he stops in front of me and looks me over in disgust. Like he'd rather vomit than look at me. "This isn't you," he sneers, touching the slinky fabric on my shoulder. "This is some little girl dressed up in a fuckin' whore costume, trying to be half as sexy as the chicks you see walkin' around backstage every night."

And as quickly as I found that empowered high, it's gone. Half as sexy? I don't need to be thinking about Randy right now, but he could have spent a night with one of those girls that I'm trying to be half as sexy as, and he gave it up to talk to me. Just to talk. Never took his eyes off of me. And I know this probably doesn't make sense, but Randy's hours of praise mean nothing compared to those three words from Josh. I like feeling like a princess with Randy, but there's nothing I want more than to be sexy enough for Josh. Why can't I be? Why doesn't he think that I am?

My lip begins to quiver, but I wipe the tears forming in the corners of my eyes as I look up into his condescending eyes. "I'm not," I start and then swallow once more. My voice is shaking with hurt and I don't want him to think that I'm weak. He hates weakness. "I'm not trying to be one of them. I just wanna be with you. Just want you to wanna be with me," I plead with him to understand me. How can he not see how badly I'm trying to be what he needs?

"Baby come here," his voice softens immediately. I never fake tears for him. I never force them. In fact, I'm usually trying to contain them, to hide them, from him. But every time they force themselves through, his entire demeanor changes. Like he didn't give a shit about me before, but the minute those tears spring up, he needs to take them away. Sometimes I think I should cry more often.

Backing up a few steps and lowering himself to the bed, he pulls me into his lap and runs his thumb under my eyes. I sniffle and fight to contain the sobs that want to break forth. A few tears might be okay, but I'm pretty sure that heaving sobs would be considered melodramatic and unnecessary. Being Josh's girlfriend is kind of like walking a tight rope. It's exhilarating once you figure it out, but you can never let yourself get distracted. One wrong move. That's all it takes.

His thumb runs over my exposed thigh as he watches me fight to regain control. "You're my girl, James," he whispers in my ear, drawing another round of tears from somewhere I don't understand. Just hearing him admit it out loud, even just to me, sounds like poetry. "I just don't trust the guys that work for this company, okay? I've known them longer than you have and I know what they think when they see a girl lookin' like you look right now."

"I don't want them, though," I protest, resting my head on his shoulder. "Josh, I did all of this for you. Nobody else even saw me," I lie without thinking. I didn't mean to, I swear, but it's out of my mouth before I can draw it back in.

When I bury my face in his neck and he runs his hand over the back of my hair, I feel my shoulders relax. We're gonna be okay. We're gonna make it. It was a little tense for a minute, but everything's gonna be okay. I'm in Josh's arms now, and we're going to be okay.

"What the hell?" he asks, pushing me off of his lap. It's so fast that I don't have time to catch myself and I hit my ass on the floor about the same time that my back catches the knob on the drawer behind me. Cringing, my hand goes to my back. "Why the fuck do you smell like a dude?" he asks, arms crossed over his chest as I writhe in the fiery pain that shoots up my spine.

Grunting, I make my way to my knees, preparing to explain. But how do I explain? It's nothing, I just danced at the hotel bar with Randy? Not only was I with the one guy that he's most paranoid about, but I just told him that I didn't leave the room. If I admit one thing, even to tell him that it's nothing, I can't cover the other lie. I'm straight up fucked. Instead, I move my hand from my back to my head and squint up at him, pretending to be disoriented. Maybe I can sell the injury. "I told you," I start to reiterate. If I learned anything from my lush of a mother it's that you pick a story and stick to it, no matter what.

"I know what you told me," he growls, grabbing a handful of my hair until my head jerks back and I'm forced to look into his angry eyes. "And the fuckin' smell on you tells me you're a fuckin' liar." When he releases my hair, I fall back to my ass. If I don't have a bruise in the morning, I'll be shocked. "And a damn stupid one, at that," he adds under his breath, unhooking his belt and ripping it through the loops.

For a minute, I think he's going to whip me with it like a bad puppy, but he doesn't. He just rips his shirt over his head and motions for me to stand. "Get the fuck off the floor," he growls, unbuckling his pants and rolling his eyes. "Don't give me those fuckin' eyes, Jamie," he spits angrily, grabbing my arm and pushing me to the bed. "This is NOT my fault. I am not the one who paraded around fuck knows where with my ass hangin' out of my skirt."

There's a fire in his eyes that scares me. I've seen Josh angry before. Trust me, I've felt the brunt of his wrath on a few occasions. He's yelled at me. He's called me names. He's gripped my hand a little tighter than some would find acceptable. He's never looked like this, though. I think he hates me right now. I've never doubted his love for me, always defended the fact that he's trying to preserve our relationship and do what is best for both of us.

That look, though. He's beyond angry. He's enraged. But that's not the scariest part. The scariest part is that I don't know what the hell comes next. "Baby, it's not," I start to defend myself as I make my way to my feet. Maybe if he'll just listen. Just calm down and listen. If I can just tell him that I love him.

But he is not in the mood to listen. Shaking his head, he grabs my arm and turns me around, bending me over the bed. "No," he growls, pulling my skirt up to my waist. "I'll tell you what it's not, Jamie. It's not your body to put on display." I squeeze my eyes shut as he yanks the straps of my dress down my arms, causing my body to buckle. My face smashes against the mattress and he rips my head back up with another handful of hair.

He's still talking, but I don't know what he's saying. I'm not listening. Not feeling. Not thinking. If I listen and think and feel, I'll . . . I just can't.


	7. It's My Life

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 7_

* * *

I'm so fucking tired. Tired of being in limbo. Tired of wondering. Tired of waiting. Tired of being so fucking angry. It's not like I set out to be. It's not like I grew up wishing I would turn into this explosive, angry-ass bastard. I know people think I like being an asshole, but I'd kinda like to be happy someday, ya know? I'd like to wake up and not think about the ten thousand things that are wrong with my life at the moment.

Too bad I don't see that shit happenin' for quite some time. Not with Jamie avoiding me like the plague again. I mean, we had a good time in the bar. I thought we did. Connected. Even danced. She was feelin' me. I know she was. I was feelin' her, too. It was a great night. I fell asleep with a smile on my face for the first time in a long time.

And now she won't even look at me. I don't know what happened when she got back to the hotel room - I don't know if Josh was home yet or what. I did keep her out later than I probably should have. I don't know - shit, what if I was the cause of something? What if she got punished because of me? That shit scares me. For her, it scares me a lot. And the fear pisses me off.

I don't mean to throw my wrist tape so hard into the locker, but sometimes my temper gets away from me. Not like that's shocking, right? Y'all knew I had a little bit of a hairpin trigger, right? I try to keep it under control, but sometimes I can't.

"Oh, look," I hear John's voice behind me. Fucker. On days like this, I wish I could punch him without getting suspended. I wish that I could just fuck him up. Or anybody, really. If I could kick my own ass, I think I would. "Somethin's up Orton's ass again," he chuckles, dropping his shit next to mine on the bench.

"Fuck off," I murmer. Jesus, how hard is it to see that I just wanna be left alone?

Of course, he's John, so he doesn't fuckin' care what I want. The only thing that matters is what he thinks is best. Fucker. "Uh huh," he nods, and then goes right on as if I haven't told him off. "So what's up with you? Just saw your girlfriend in the hall."

"Not my girlfriend," I tell him, grabbing my trunks from my bag. I don't want to put them on. I don't want to go out there on stage. I don't fuckin' want to be Randy Orton tonight. "Haven't talked to her since the bar the other night."

He lets out a low whistle as he sinks to the bench. "And, obviously, you're fine with that."

Does it fuckin' matter if I'm okay with it? "You're not funny," I warn him. With John, I fire warning shots. One - back up, maybe two, and then I go off. If he doesn't heed the warning, it's not my fault. He's supposed to know me so well, he can fuckin' figure it out.

"Dude, you have got to stop obsessing over this chick, man," he advises, the smile gone from his face.

He's all serious now, so I'm supposed to appreciate what he says and give it some sort of credence. Fuck that. "And you need to stop tellin' me what to do." Yet another warning. He's dangerously close to an explosion and he should know that by now.

"Well somebody needs to," he states.

And 3-2-1 . . . "Man, fuck you!" Lift off.

He holds his hands up, as if he can re-cork the bottle. "Hey," he starts.

But it's too late. He can't take it back. He can't stop picking. He can't stop being an asshole. It's as much a part of him as those stupid catch phrases he keeps throwin' out in the ring. "No," I hold up a hand. I don't care that a few lower-card guys are scurryin' out of the locker room. I'm not interested in them right now. "Don't fuckin' talk to me, Cena. Just don't. I don't give a shit about your perfect marriage to your perfect Playmate wife. I don't give a shit about your life as the world's most recognizable superstar or what the fuck ever you're gonna say. I don't wanna hear about your perfect life and about how fucked up I am."

"Dude," he sighs and stands, as though I didn't just tell him to shut his fuckin' mouth. "This is not about perfection. It's about you setting your sites on yet another victim. On someone who's only going to end up needing more than you are capable of giving. And you're gonna end up feeling like more of a failure than you did before." Resting against the locker, he folds his arms over his chest. "Why do you insist on torturing yourself like this?"

"I don't know," I shoot back, fighting like hell the urge to stick my fist through the wall beside my locker. "Why do you insist on sticking your pronounced chin where it doesn't belong?"

Ya know what really pisses me off? The fact that my anger doesn't even phase him anymore. "You are my best friend, Orton," he starts, his voice calm regardless of how red my face may be getting. "For better or worse or all the girlie conversations in the world, you're like one of my brothers. You care about the chicks that you hook up with, but I care about you, man. I care about what happens to you." Running his hand over his face, he waits until I meet his eye to shake his head. "You lose a piece of yourself every time you go on one of these 'save the damsel in distress' missions. You think that you're doing the right thing, and it's noble, but you're destroying yourself."

There's so much pain and concern and care in his eyes that I almost feel bad for going off on him. I get pissed at him and I wish that I could punch him sometimes, but I can't deny that he means what he says. He does care. Too much sometimes. It diffuses me a little bit, but not enough to talk about it. He couldn't understand. Even if he wants to. "Dude, there's so much shit you don't know about," I sigh, tossing my trunks into the locker and resting my head in my hands.

"So tell me," he offers. I wish I could. But I can't. I just can't. "Or tell Felicia," he suggests my former therapist. "Tell somebody, man. Get it off your chest. Move past it, Orton." He watches as I sink to the bench and rests his hand on my shoulder. "You can only stand still for so long before you stagnate and start to slide backwards, man. Don't let that happen."

He leaves me alone with my thoughts. Except that's the one thing I don't want to be left alone with. I don't wanna think about it, or talk about it, or have anything to do with it anymore. I don't wanna be angry. I don't wanna feel bad.

There's only one thing I can think of that can pull me out of this funk. I need to get high.


	8. The Aftermath

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 8_

* * *

"Baby, I have a meeting with Shane McMahon at two," Josh announces as I step out of the bathroom of our shared hotel room.

I nod, but don't make direct eye contact as I rummage through our suitcase for something to wear. "Okay," I respond, refusing to look up. I've had a hard time looking at him for the last few weeks. Ever since the incident, ya know?

Oh, he's apologized. And grovelled. And begged for forgiveness. And cried. He's cried a lot about how much he loves me and how crazy he gets at the thought of losing me and how he doesn't know how he would live without me. I never even threatened to leave. I just started sleeping in the chair next to the window instead of in the bed next to him. But he's really been trying to make sure that I know how much he needs me.

But I'm not sure it's that easy anymore. I mean, I've always overlooked shit and pretended like it wasn't there. I think, on some level, I've believed it. But that night . . . I know what you're thinking. It wasn't what he did. It was that look. The one that, if I close my eyes and picture it, still makes me shudder in fear. It's knowing that he has all the power. All he has to do is use it.

I'm lost in my thoughts again, and can't help jumping when he puts his hand on my shoulder. "Hey," he coos in my ear and wraps his arms around my waist. He's just started touching me again this week. Nothing imposing. Just enough to let me know that he's still here. Still my man. Still loves me. "Why don't you go shopping while I'm out?" he suggests, kissing my ear gently.

My heart drops into my stomach, but my body tingles. Not a lot. It's not overwhelming. Just enough to be confusing. How can I be scared of him and still want him? How can I know that he has the power to hurt me and still get those damn butterflies when I feel his breath on my neck? How did I get here? When did I become this girl?

He pats my ass softly and then he's gone. Shopping is a good idea. I'll just go shopping. Clear my head. Buy some cute clothes and feel better. That's always worked in the past.

I get ready in less than twenty minutes and do a last minute hair check before walking out the door.

I have to be honest with you, I've been torn the last few weeks. I love Josh. I have loved him from the minute I saw him. From the second he talked to me in a bar back in Portland, where we live, I knew that there was something special about him. He wasn't surrounded by women or anything, but he was so charming. And he spent the entire night talking to me. To me. When my friends Jenna and Lisa were there - the ones who always got the attention. Not that night, though. That night, Josh didn't even notice them.

I really think I've loved him since that very day. And it's hard to give up on that, ya know? I mean, I've been through a lot with Josh. I've seen him at his best and his worst, and it's hard to just walk away from that. I know you think I should. Everybody thinks I should. But it's just not that easy.

I'm so lost in thought that I don't even see the brick wall until I've smashed into it. Except that it's not a wall. Brick walls don't smell like that. Nope, not a wall. "Randy," I whisper without thinking and then look up into those crystal blue eyes. "Hey."

I haven't talked to him since that night. I've avoided him - I admit it. I just can't deal with him. Not when things are so shaky between me and Josh. Just seeing Randy puts me in a weird place. Mentally. Emotionally. He fucks me up more than my boyfriend does, I think.

"Hi," he smiles as he places his dark sunglasses on his nose. Thank God he covered those eyes.

Without that distraction, I notice that he's toting a rolling suitcase and a duffel bag. "What are you doing?" I ask. It's too late for him to be checking in, and way too early to be checking out. Especially when there's a show tonight. Maybe he's just changing hotels. Some of the guys do that sometimes if the fans get out of control.

But he just shrugs. "Headin' home for a little bit," he smiles easily, in a way that makes my heart flutter. Dammit, I should have just said 'excuse me' and kept walking. I can't care about this.

But fuck if my mouth doesn't keep right on moving. "But there's a show tonight," What the hell is goin' on? Why would he be leaving before the show? That doesn't make sense.

"Yeah," he nods, one of his strong hands finding it's way into the pocket of his jeans. He doesn't take his focus from me, even though his eyes are hidden. I'm not sure if he did that for his own benefit, or for mine. "I, uh," he shakes his head and chuckles as if he can't believe he's about to say what's about to come out of his mouth. "I got suspended."

"For what?" I ask without thinking. That was fucking rude. What is wrong with me? It's none of my business. And I don't care anyway. "Never mind," I shake my head and run a hand through my hair, staring at the floor and wishing it would open up for me.

But Randy just nudges me with his foot. The one part of him that I can still see with my head down. "It's not a big deal, James." His voice is warm when he speaks. So inviting that I can't help looking up into his handsome face once again. "Got busted with a joint out behind the hotel last night."

I've heard rumors about Randy bein' a pothead before, but in this place, you never know what you can actually believe. You never know what's true and what isn't. "Wow," I say. Mostly because it's the only thing I can think to say. That and, "Sorry."

But in true Randy fashion, he just shrugs and looks over my head to the patrons milling around the hotel lobby. "Is what it is, ya know," he states as though this kind of thing happens all the time. As though it's not dangerous for his career.

Okay, so I'm a big fat liar. I care. I care that he got suspended. I care that he's going through something. But I can't let myself stand here and keep doing that. I can't just keep caring about him. It's too confusing. And too dangerous. "Look, I gotta get going," I tell him, taking a step to the side.

And then he has to fuck it all up. He touches my shoulder and the contact makes me cringe. Takes me back to that place. I don't wanna go there, but dammit. "Are you okay?" he asks. His voice is so full of care, so full of concern, that I can't help tearing up.

"I'm fine," I tell him, regaining my composure as quickly as I lost it. "Look," I tuck my hair behind my ear and offer him the brightest smile I can muster. "You have your own shit to deal with right now, okay?"

He nods good-naturedly. "Yeah, but I'm so much better at deal with everyone else's," he offers.

"I think we're all kinda like that," I say, and it's as if we're in the bar again. Nobody around but the two of us, living in a world that is free of issues and significant others and problems. There's a calming serenity with Randy that I've never felt with anyone else, and it's kinda offsetting. Yes, I realize that's an oxymoron.

He takes the cell phone from my hand and flips it open, dialing numbers quickly with his massive thumbs. "If you wanna talk, let somebody else deal with your shit," he grins, extending the phone back to me.

And as soon as Josh finds that phone number, it's Hell on Earth 2 for me. "Randy," I start to say.

But he just holds the screen up for me to see that he's programmed his number under the name 'Mom Cell.' "I'm not stupid, Jamie," he explains.

It's weird, the way that one little example of understanding can turn me into mush. I don't want to like him, but he makes it so damn hard not to. "Thanks," I smile, taking his Sidekick without thinking. I program my number quickly, so that he'll know it's me if I ever get the balls to call him.

Lowering his sunglasses, he looks at me over the top of the shades. "Take care of yourself, Jamie," he instructs and I just nod, watching him walk out to the cab waiting for him at the curb.

For the rest of the afternoon, I force Randy out of my mind. I force Josh out of my mind. I push everything that isn't related to retail therapy from my thoughts. The only men I allow myself to think of are named Armani, Kors, Dolce, and Gabana. And by the time I arrive at the arena for the show, I feel better. Almost happy.

"Hey, baby," Josh's voice greets me as I make my way onto the arena floor. With his hand around my waist, he kisses the side of my head. "Where you been?"

I hold up my wrist to show him the new watch I bought for myself at Macy's. "Shopping," I answer as though it should be obvious.

He huffs, and I'm not sure why. Maybe he's stressed. He's usually stressed right before a show. Even if it is just a house show. "Thought you might be off gettin' high with your other boyfriend," he grumbles.

Pulling back, I know I must look shocked. "What? Where did that come from?"

"Orton got a free vacation for smokin' weed last night," he informs me with obvious glee in his voice. When I just swallow and look away, his eyebrows knit. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

I nod. "I know," I confirm, but then follow it with the biggest lie I've told in recent memory. "I just don't care."


	9. Hatching a Plan

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 9_

* * *

I don't like being suspended. I know that's probably hard to believe, since I do it so much lately, but it's not fun for me. Being stuck at home for a month or two is like hell for a person who's used to being in a new city, sleeping in a new bed, every night. A lot of guys complain that they don't have enough time at home, but I hate being home. There's nothing here for me.

Nothing but my own thoughts, and those are like torture. I mean, if I sit still long enough, I start wondering what's going on out there without me. I start itching to pick up the phone and call John just to apologize for acting like an ass the last time we talked. I think about Jamie and how much closer she's going to get to Josh while I'm away. And then I start to remember that I wasn't doing such a great job of keeping them apart when I was there. I remember those bruises on her wrist the last time that I saw her.

And I can't let myself think about all of that, so I find shit to do. Trips to the grocery store, Walmart, the gym. Yeah, I have a home gym, but St. Louis at rush hour takes more of my time than a walk down the hall would. And taking the time to sign an autograph and pose for a picture with a fan is a workout interruption I would never have at home. On the road, I get annoyed when people try to stop my momentum in the gym, but when I'm home, when I'm longing for a distraction, it's welcome.

A work out at home will normally take me a couple of hours, but I chose a gym that was about forty minutes from my house this morning, and it ended up chewing about five hours of my day. When I let myself into the house, I feel rejuvenated. Hell, I might even call my mom and see if she wants me to take her shopping this afternoon.

The ringing of my telephone against my hip disrupts the silence of my house and I answer it without casting a glance at the screen while heading to the kitchen. I don't like to eat right after a work out, but sitting in traffic for an hour made me hungry. "Randy Orton," I say distractedly.

"It's Maria," is the only greeting that I get. Maria? I haven't talked to John in over a week, so it's strange that his wife would be calling me in the middle of the afternoon. "You busy?"

I just shake my head and pull a head of lettuce out of my refrigerator. "Just got back from the gym," I tell her as I extract even more vegetables from the crisper. Salad may not sound very filling, but it usually hits the spot for me. "What's up, Sweetheart?" I ask as I pull a bowl out of the cabinet and begin tearing pieces of lettuce off of the head.

"Well, I know you have this whole thing goin' on with John," she starts in that coy way that she has of trying to pretend that she's shy. Trust me, she's not.

Clearing my throat, I reach for a knife and a tomato. "Is this your attempt at matchmaking, Maria?" I ask, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of the fresh veggies.

"Sort of," she admits. "But not between you and John. Y'all have your shit, your weird relationship, and I know that's your thing," she begins to ramble so I clear my throat again. Sometimes she doesn't realize what she's doing. "Okay, so I just wanted to let you know Josh Lafferty just went into a meeting with Vince and company," she says and I drop the knife to the counter. "And Jamie just left for lunch. By herself."

It's all I can do to remember that I'm on the phone and hanging up would be rude. "You are a goddess," I smile. She just confirms it and hangs up. Don't tell me that I shouldn't. I know that it's a stupid idea - that I should be using this time to clear my mind and work on my own personal issues. But ya know? I don't care.

I want to call her, but what if Maria was mistaken? What if she's not really alone? Instead of calling, I send a simple text. 'U busy?' And five minutes later, I get the response. 'Nope.'

Don't have to tell me twice. I hit the speed dial that I have assigned to her name and wait for her to pick up. When she does, she's laughing. "You don't waste time, do you?" she asks, her voice lilting like a song.

The food I was so intent on ingesting just seconds ago is now forgotten as I grab a bottle of water and head into the living room. "Gotta take the time when I can get it, ya know?" I smile. Just the sound of her upbeat voice makes me a little happier. I know that's kinda pathetic, but that's how it is.

"How you doin', Randy?" she asks, as if we've been friends forever.

I sink to the couch and stare out the window, over my backyard, to the pool sparkling in the late afternoon sun. "I'm good," I answer easily. Everything feels easier when she's relaxed. When she's herself. When she's not with Josh. "How are you doin', Sweetheart?" I ask, picking at a piece of fuzz on the back of the couch beside me, her face dancing in my mind as I wait for her response.

She doesn't even hesitate. "I'm good." She sounds good. Great, actually. Like she might actually be happy. I can't help wondering if things are better for her since I'm not around. Has Josh let up on the leash a little bit because I'm not there to distract his lady love?

"Glad to hear it," I finally say when I realize that I haven't spoken for a minute and things have gotten awkward.

She's chewing something in my ear, but it's not gross. It's not loud or obnoxious, just a little crunchy. Of course, with her, I don't think anything would gross me out. Maybe body odor, but I don't have to worry about that with her. "So I heard they might be bringin' you back at the end of the month."

I nod, and then remember that she can't see that. "They're talkin' about it," I confirm, a smile tweaking my lips at the thought of seeing her again. I know that it won't be perfect, and probably won't be as easy as this conversation is, but it will be more than a voice in my ear. It will be her twinkling eyes and her silky hair and her brilliant smile. "Think you can last that long without me?"

Yeah, I'm flirting, but it seems safe right now. She might even bite back. Who knows? "It'll be hard," she said with a deep breath and I can just imagine her eyes drifting to her feet and then back up to my face. Staring at me through those thick lashes, her cheeks turning pink like they do when she's about to say something she's not sure she should say. "I think I'll manage, though," she adds with a chuckle.

"Ya know, you can always come visit if the pain of being apart gets to be too much to bear," I offer without thinking. Yeah, I know that it's never going to happen, and when she huffs, it's only reaffirming that. But it's worth a shot, right? "Offer's open whenever, Jamie," I add, just to make sure she knows I'm serious.

I hear her shifting around, and I'm not sure what she's doing, but I know she's not answering. At least she's not shooting me down immediately. Maybe she's thinking about it. It's a big step, I know, but if I never put it out there, she'll never know that she has options. At least, that's what I tell myself.

"I appreciate the gesture, Randy," is all she says. The "I can't" is left unsaid, but it's definitely implied. When I'm with her, I notice her shift in posture and the way her eyes cloud over when we talk about Josh, or about that situation in general. On the phone, it's all about the way her voice shrinks to a near-whisper.

It kills me. I just wish there's something I could do to make things easier for her. I wish that I could take the pain away, make her life better. I mean, there has to be something that I can do, right? There's always something. "I know you're scared, Jamie," I say, knowing full-well that I'm risking the laid back vibe of our conversation with that one statement. "But I'm not," I add, hoping to hell that she hears me. That she knows what I mean.

"So what are you?" she asks, her tone shifting from flirtatious to sarcastic. "My knight in shining armor?"

"Whenever you need me to be," I shoot back, fully expecting her to laugh in my face. Or ear, as the case may be.

Another cynical chuckle greets me and I know she's shaking her head. She has to be. That's what she does when she thinks something I'm saying is complete bull shit. I've seen it a couple of times. "That's a pretty big promise, Orton," she says and I hear the sounds of traffic as she exits whatever restaurant she's been lunching in.

I wish that she was here with me. Not so I could look at her, but so she could see the sincerity in my eyes. I want her to know that I mean every word that I say to her, that there is nothing I wouldn't do for her. To protect her. "It's true. And sounds a hell of a lot better than 'I heat up a mean frozen pizza,'" I joke.

"Do you?" she asks without missing a beat. Is it just me, or is that more impressive to her than the whole 'knight in shining armor' thing? I just chuckle my confirmation. "Shit, any time I don't have to do the cooking, that's a deal for me," she says, and I'm not sure if she's joking or not.

On the off chance that she's not, I add, "Hell, I'll even do the dishes, Sweetheart."

She lets out a low whistle and I press the phone a little closer to my ear to eliminate the sound of wind rushing past her in the background. "Be careful there, Randy," she feigns a tone of warning. "I might just move in and never leave."

How fantastic would that be? "I've got plenty of room," I tell her. It's the first time I feel like I might actually be making some progress with her. Like she might actually be hearing me, letting me in. If I can find some way to prove to her that I want to help her, that I can, I think I can seal this deal with Jamie. For the first time, I feel like there has to be an 'in' and that I will be able to find it.

She doesn't say anything for a long minute and then she lets out a long, longing sigh. "Alright, I gotta get goin'," she says. "Back to the life of a trophy girlfriend."

I say good bye, after making sure she knows that she can call me any day, any time, but something she just said makes me think. Well, it wasn't so much what she said, as how she said it. I think I know how to fix Jamie's situation. I don't know where the idea comes from, must be divine inspiration or something, but I know what to do. I just have to make a few calls.


	10. Unexpected Visitor

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 10: _Unexpected Visitor

* * *

I've done some stupid shit in my life. I've made some bad decisions, ya know? Things that could spell absolute disaster for me. But I've never done anything like this before. Never in my life have I don't anything that I knew ahead of time could get me killed. I've never had the courage, or the absolute idiocy, to throw myself into death's face like this. You think I'm being melodramatic, don't you? I'm not. This is the absolute worst idea I've ever had in my entire life.

Never mind the fact that it's pouring rain and I'm freezing. That only adds to the pathetic nature of this entire situation. God, I'm so thoroughly fucked. And I probably have pneumonia on top of it. Great.

And then the porch light comes on and Randy opens the door of his home. Dressed only in a pair of shorts, he runs his hand over his nearly-bald head and blinks against the sleep in his crystal eyes. "Hey," he greets easily, as though he was expecting me, before wiping at his face with his large hand.

I know I should be angry with him - I mean, that's the reason that I came here in the first place, isn't it? To let him know just how pissed off I am. To let him know that he should have minded his own business. But fuck if I can remember that when he's standing there looking all, well, Randy. "That pizza offer still stand?" I ask dumbly. Pizza is NOT the reason I am here. But I can't remember the other reasons off the top of my head.

"Uh, yeah." He pushes the screen open and motions for me to enter. "Of course," he adds as he closes the door and turns the porch light out once more. "Come on in," he invites, stepping past me to quickly shove his laundry back into the basket next to the stairs. Why was his laundry all over the bottom step and the banister? Not sure. But that's not why I'm here.

And standing here, in Randy Orton's house, I finally grasp just how ridiculous all of this is. I'm in his house. At one o'clock in the morning. Drenched and dripping on his marble floor. "This is crazy," I speak aloud, running my fingers through my soaked hair. "I know this is crazy," I add, just in case he thought I wasn't aware. "I shouldn't be here."

He reaches out to me, and then withdraws his hand as though he's not really sure what to say. How could he know? It's not like there's a manual for shit like this, right? "It's fine," he says, his eyes darting from me to the door and then back again. I think he just woke up. Like really awoke to the concept that I'm in his home. Just realized what's really going on here. And if he has, I wish he would fill me in, because I'm not entirely sure that I know. "Let me just get your stuff outta your car," he offers.

But I shake my head, staring past him to the white vertical blinds covering the large window. "My stuff's not in the car," I say, slipping into a trance of shock. Randy's eyebrow shoots up and I say the words that really bring my entire situation back to reality. "It's all in my hotel room. In New Orleans," I tell him, blinking my eyes and returning a blank look to his face.

Have you ever had an out of body experience? One where you can see everything going on around you, but it just doesn't feel like you're really there? That's how I feel right now. I can see Randy looking at me. I know I'm standing here. But I'm not really sure that I'm here. Part of me is pretty sure I'm still lying next to Josh, dreaming of Randy. At least, if that were true, I could just wake up and feel guilty for dreaming of someone else. I wouldn't have to fear for my life or anything.

"So," Randy lets a low sigh out from between his teeth, "this was not a well thought-out plan then?" he asks, smiling just slightly, as though it doesn't matter why I'm there. I think he's just genuinely glad to have me in his home. Like he has no idea what it really means for me to be there. "It's alright," he assures me, reaching into the basket of unfolded clothes once more, tossing me a tee shirt. "There's a bathroom right down this hall. You can put this on and we'll figure clothes out in the morning, alright?"

He steps around and my legs take me, as if on autopilot, to the bathroom. I strip out of my wet shirt and jeans and take a look at myself for the first time. I try not to look at myself in the mirror much. At least not before I get dressed. Josh's pretty good at keeping the bruises off of my face and my arms. I guess we're both pretty good at hiding what goes on in our rooms. Josh says what happens between us should stay that way - not because it's such a romantic little bubble that we've created for ourselves. Though that's what I used to think he meant. Now I know the truth.

It's pretty hard to deny when I look at myself like this. When I see the splashes of purple and green and black against my pale skin. When I see the red, irritated spots where his cigarette "accidentally" met my arm when he was reaching for the ashtray last night in bed. When I look at the clear finger outlines on my shoulders, and the place where his thumbs pressed against my collarbone. More pictures of his hands glare back at me from my hips and thighs, places where he's held me down. As if I was fighting him back. As if I would dare.

I slip the tee shirt over my head and close my eyes in a silent prayer of thanks that Randy is so tall. Or maybe that I'm so short. Either way, the shirt nearly reaches my knees, so the marks won't be visible. And then I look myself over one more time and I gasp. The rain, and the tears on the plane, must have washed my careful make up job away. The black and blue mark around the corner of my eye is undeniable. I can't pass that off as runny mascara.

Of course, I wouldn't have to pass it off as anything if Randy hadn't done what he did. Josh never would have done this to me if Randy had minded his own business. I didn't ask him for anything, ya know? I never asked him to get involved. To be honest, Josh was never this violent before Randy came along. Sure, he had a temper. But he usually just yelled a lot or, when things got really bad, he would ignore me completely. He would push me sometimes, if he was really, really pissed, but he never hit me. He never tried to hurt me like this before Randy.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I make my way back to the living room, to find Randy sitting on the couch, staring out the back window, where the stars twinkle across the surface of his swimming pool. He sits on expensive, leather furniture, surveying his castle and kingdom. Josh was right. Randy is charmed. He has a blessed little life. Why should he fuckin' care about a train wreck like me? Was he just bored when he decided to make that call? "I know what you did," I find myself spouting from the doorway behind me.

Turning, he looks at me over the back of the couch. "And you came all this way to thank me?" he grins a stupid smile that makes me want to smack him. Does he really have no idea what he's done? Does he think he did the right thing here?

"It's not going to make anything better," I snap. God, how can he be so dense?

But he just leans forward, a desperately hopeful look in his eyes. Like he still believes that he can change the world, one little victim at a time. "You don't know that," he assures me. He thinks he knows. Everybody always thinks they know. "It gets you away from him, and it gives you a chance to do something for yourself."

"He's still going to be there, Randy," I interrupt, exasperated. Why isn't he listening to me? Why doesn't he get it? I'm sure he meant well when he told Vince that I had a degree in broadcast journalism and that I would be an asset to the Raw PR team. I'm sure he meant well when he also suggested that Josh be considered for the recently-vacated position of Crew Chief over on Smackdown. I'm sure he thought that it would solve everything.

But it doesn't. Josh knowing that these positions will tear us apart doesn't exactly help me. And Josh assuming that I orchestrated the whole thing to spend time alone with Randy got me this shiner that I've failed so miserably at hiding. It doesn't help anything. "He's not going to let me go," I add, moving toward the window to watch the water undulate under the rain-cooled breeze of the night. "Probably won't even let me take the job." Not that I want the job. I can't. Josh takes care of me. That's how it's supposed to be.

But Randy isn't satisfied with my explanation, or defense, or whatever it is I'm offering. "If he lets you?" he repeats, the words dripping from his tongue with sarcasm. "Are you listening to yourself? He's not your father, Jamie. He doesn't have to allow it. He doesn't have the power you think he does," he points out. "He's being sent to Smackdown whether he likes it or not. You're taking the job at Raw whether he likes it or not," he explains, as though it's a done deal just because he says so. "And if he doesn't like it, he can take that up with me."

He's my white knight once again. Like he's ever done anything to make my life easier. I don't need him. I don't. "You're forgetting one thing," I tell him defiantly. There's something so satisfying about fighting with Randy. Something that makes me feel like I actually have a voice. Something that I enjoy, even when my skin is crawling with frustration and disdain for him.

"What's that?" he asks, standing from the couch to rest his hands on his hips. The only thing better than giving Randy a piece of my mind is watching him try to fight back.

"I love him," I declare and he laughs. Because he doesn't believe me? Because I couldn't possibly? What the fuck does Randy Orton know about my relationship? Who the hell does he think he is?

He purses his lips and crosses his massive arms over his broad chest. "How? How can you even say that you love him, Jamie?" His eyebrow raises again and I wish he wouldn't do that. He's so fucking smug. Like he knows all the answers and I don't know shit. "You're here," he begins to build his case - one he no doubt believes is open and shut. "In the middle of the night. With a shiner the size of a softball," he gestures toward my face and I instinctively shake my head to cover the bruise with my hair. "And you've been limping since before I left. But you're going to stand there and tell me that you love him anyway?"

Without so much as a second thought, I launch into a mode that used to feel foreign, but is now as natural as speaking my own name. "For your information," I start, crossing my arms as well. "I had knee surgery six months ago," I lie through my teeth. "Old ballet injury." I've never taken a ballet lesson in my life, for the record. I don't even have to think about the lies anymore. They're rehearsed far better than the dialogue he spews on television on a weekly basis. Pointing to my face, I go on. "I ran into a spotlight backstage yesterday. And this was the first flight available from New Orleans."

He thinks he has me all figured out, but he doesn't know shit. Before you think I'm just a compulsive liar, I don't want to spin this web for Randy. On the plane, I actually thought about coming clean to him about everything. What's it really going to matter? Since Josh is going to beat the living shit out of me when I get home anyway? But seeing him thinking he knows me, acting like he knows what's in my head? That's what Josh does, and I'm tired of feeling small. Since I can't tell Josh what I'm thinking, Randy serves as my punching bag. I wish it didn't have to be that way, but it does. It just has to be.

He's quiet for a second, and I feel a swell of victory in my chest. That's right, Randy Orton. Take that. And then he looks at me with that raised eyebrow and that slow smile spreading over his lips. It's the kind of look that detectives get on television when they realize that they've caught a criminal in a lie. Fuck that look. "You forget to tackle why you're here in the first place."

I poke my chin out like a child throwing a tantrum. "I wanted pizza," I lie and then kick my own ass for the stupidity. Sometimes the whole 'second-nature lying' thing lets me down a bit.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he throws his arms up, calling me on the ludicrous answer.

But I'm tired of being talked down to. Tired of being treated like a silly little girl. "You don't have to believe me. I know what I feel."

He lowers himself to the couch, that stupid smirk still on his full, sleep-puffed lips. "Oh, I believe that you believe it," he concedes. "I just wanna know why."

I don't owe him an explanation. I don't owe him a fuckin' thing. But I sink to the chair opposite him and feel the need to answer his question. I'm not really sure if I need to prove it to him, or to myself. "Because he's not always like this," I start, my gaze drifting to the floor as I picture Josh's soft eyes, the ones that used to look at me with such affection. "Because he loves me. Enough to be hyper-protective."

He snorts and tosses a pillow in my direction. He thinks I'm kidding. I can tell when I meet his eye and he wipes the grin off of his face. "You're serious?" he asks, shaking his head and rolling his eyes like I couldn't be more ridiculous. "Did you read the fucking text book on the plane? The 'Abuse Victim' handbook?"

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" I ask angrily, feeling the heat in my face as he continues to demean my excuse. He can say what he wants, so long as he doesn't say it in that tone, with those teasing eyes. I'm not an idiot. I'm not retarded. I know my own life. I know what I'm doing. "Where do you get off?" I start.

But he holds up a hand and his face changes in an instant. Moving toward me, he kneels on the floor. Suddenly, he's compassionate. Suddenly, he knows that this is not a joke. That I'm not playing with him. "I'm not judging you, James." His voice is painful. Not because it's so compassionate or loving or anything. But because it's slow, and even. Like a father trying to calm his overwrought child after she falls off her bike or something. "I'm not perfect. Neither are you," he adds, his head nodding along with his words, as if that will convince me. "But Josh isn't either, and I need you to understand that."

"Stop it," I insist, pushing him away before he comes any closer. "Just stop talking to me like I'm a stupid child." Drawing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs and bury my head. "If I wanted that, I would have stayed home," I murmer before I can stop myself. What does it matter now? Randy already thinks he has me all figured out.

For a long time, I hold my position, rocking back and forth and fighting to control my emotions. I feel like I'm all over the place. I feel like I made the biggest mistake of my life in coming here. I'm terrified, because Josh might beat me senseless when I go back. Even more scary is the thought that he might not be there at all - that he might be done with me and I'll be alone. I know that doesn't make sense, but I'm not sure I can make it on my own anymore - or that I want to.

But I find, when Randy returns to my side and wraps his arms around my shoulders, a greater fear comes from wishing that he could be the knight he seems to think he is. That he could take it all away and make it all better. That someone could save me. Because I'm pretty sure, at this point, I can't save my fuckin' self. I can't even walk to the guest room by myself - Randy has to carry me, and tuck me in.

Curling into a fetal position once he's returned to his own room, I force my eyes open and stare at the wall. The greatest fear of all covers me like an old, dependable blanket - this is the fear that I know. The one that I've grown accustomed to and find myself clinging to. Because the only thing of which I'm certain at this point is that I don't know what happens next. The fear paralyzes me, but the familiarity of it lulls me into a tearful sleep.


	11. Voice of Reason

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 11: _Voice of Reason

**A/N: I think this is my favorite chapter of the story - hope you guys enjoy it, too!**

* * *

I've never been one to shy away from complimenting myself, but this time? I have to say I'm pretty damn good. I mean, how else do you explain the fact that, three days after she arrived in St. Louis, Jamie is now sitting across from me, in an actual restaurant, smiling and looking more breath-taking than I have ever seen a woman look. She's fucking gorgeous. Her smile, her dancing eyes, her shiny, shampoo-commercial hair. Everything. I can almost pretend that she's actually here with me because she wants to be, not because she's been craving mouth-watering barbecue all day.

"You look beautiful, James," I compliment without thinking. Yesterday afternoon, she sat by my pool and poured her heart out to me about how abusive Josh is, and about how wrong she knows their relationship is. She talked about the excuses that she makes for him, but about how she really does know what's going on in her own relationship. She even knows it's not healthy. Last night, while we were watching Raw, she asked me what I would think about her staying with me until she decides what she's going to do about the job offer.

I told her that I didn't think that was a good idea. . . .

And then I told her that I knew where we could find some leprechauns to feed us gummy bears on puffy clouds of spun gold.

What am I? Crazy? Of course I told her she could stay. My brain is telling me that she's just scared to see Josh and that she needs me for some kind of security. My heart is telling me that's enough for right now. But I have to be slow. I can't move too quickly, before she's ready, or I'll scare her off. That would be the worst possible thing at this point, I think.

"So do you," she responds and then blushes and lowers her head, laughing at her own statement. Fuck, she can tell me I'm a pretty, pretty princess if she keeps smiling like that. "I mean," she stammers and tucks a strand of blond curls behind her ear, "thank you."

Before I can say anything further, her cell phone rings. Just like it has every five minutes for the last three days. She turned it off for a little while this afternoon, but when she turned it back on, there were fourteen voice mails and thirty-seven text messages. Now, I knew that Josh wasn't just going to let her go without a fight, but dammit, man, seriously? Can you say desperate?

She checks the screen and her face falls. "Give me two minutes," she holds up a finger and my shoulders sag. Must be visible, too, because she smiles and reaches across the table to touch my arm, showing the screen on her telephone. "It's my mother."

I just shrug and then nod as she excuses herself from the table and heads outside. Even from the back, she's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I know I said I'm tryin' to take it slow, but it's been awhile since I got any, ya know? And I'm a pretty unusual guy in that I can go for awhile without sex and still function, but that ass, in that dress we bought at the mall yesterday? Makes it hard on a guy, if you know what I'm sayin'.

"Gotta say, that's surprising," a soft voice speaks over my shoulder. I don't even have to turn to know who's standing there when her hand touches my arm. "She's totally not your type."

There aren't a lot of voices that can stop my heart without warning. There aren't a lot of mere touches on the shoulder that can paralyze my fucking heart. "Hi," I smile, never bothering to move as she lifts her hand and walks to the other side of the table, lowering herself into the chair that Jamie just vacated.

Ya know, I never claimed to be over Tatum, but seeing her now? All flowing hair and searching eyes? I know that I'm not. And I have to admit that I'm not sure I ever will be. She's just as stunning today as she was the day that I met her, and even more so than the day she walked away from me. She's just as breath-taking as she has always been. In my mind and in the flesh.

"Hi?" she asks, rolling her eyes and looking as offended as I'm sure she probably isn't. "That's all I get?"

What does she expect? A loving embrace? It's not like we're lovers anymore, ya know? And if you remember correctly, that was her choice, not mine. "You look good, Tate," I concede graciously with a nod, crossing my left ankle over my right knee. If I wasn't here with another beautiful woman, seeing her again might be harder. I might be more of the bastard I always feel like I am when I think about her.

She's as easy-going as ever, leaning back in the seat and resting her arm against the back of the booth. "Guess not bein' all strung out'll do that for a girl," she smiles. It's so fucking easy with her - everything she does looks easy. Looks like she's got no trouble sitting so close to me, like nothing ever happened. Like it's not tearing her fucking heart apart.

"How you feelin'?" I ask her, even though the clarity behind her eyes and the fullness of her cheeks speaks volumes to how she's feeling. Maybe she was right. Maybe breaking up with me was the best thing for her.

Of course, it doesn't help the ego when she says, "Great. Better than ever."

Better than ever. Better than she ever did with me. That might not be what she means, but that's what I hear. "Good. That's good," I nod dumbly, unsure of what else I'm supposed to say. How do I respond to that?

Leaning forward, She rests her chin on the palm of her hand and stares into my eyes. I used to hate it when she did that. Like she could see into my soul or something. I hated it then, and I hate it now. "Randy, what are you doin'?" she asks, as though she already knows the answer.

I hate when people ask questions like that. Like they're asking you one thing, but they mean something else, ya know? Like they want you to answer, but you're going to be wrong because you don't know what they're really asking. "Um, I'm about to order some ribs," I go with the obvious. She'll tell me I'm wrong anyway, so what does it matter? "I don't know if you remember, but ordering food is what I do at restaurants."

Tatum just nods, with this enlightened look on her face. "I do remember that," she concedes. "Do you know what else I remember?" I just shrug. Doesn't matter what she remembers. She doesn't know me anymore. Nothing she says can be even remotely relevant anymore. "I remember your hero complex."

I can't help laughing. Mostly because, if I don't, I'm going to make a scene. With a chuckle, I lean forward and rest my elbow on the table. "Gosh, Tatum, it was great to see you again," I start. "Really, I enjoyed this little walk down memory lane." If she's half as smart as she thinks she is, she'll walk away. This is my 'don't fuck with me' tone.

Holding her hands up in surrender, she falls back in her chair, showing me that she's not a threat. "Look, I don't know what's going on here," she starts.

Like fuck she doesn't. "That's bull shit, Tatum," I interrupt her. "I'm sure Maria told you all about it." Because that's what Maria does. She sticks her nose in where it doesn't belong. Because she can't keep her fucking mouth shut.

"Actually," she flips her dark hair over her shoulder, "she didn't." Her eyes fill with this compassion that makes me a little bit sick to my stomach. It's the same pitying look she got when she was breaking up with me. "It's in your eyes, Randy. In the way you look at her. In the way she doesn't look at you."

It takes every highly-trained muscle in my body not to turn this table over on her. "You do realize that you gave up your right to give me relationship advice when you left my ass, right?" God, nobody on Earth elicits this response in me. Nobody on Earth makes me as angry as Tatum does. I used to think it was one of our hottest qualities - passion, ya know? And I thought that would fade over time, because we're not so, well, passionate about one another anymore. But I'm just as infuriated as ever.

Gripping my hand in hers, she licks her lips and looks around. Maybe she doesn't want anyone to know what she's about to say? Maybe she's here with someone? I can't even let myself entertain that notion, though, or I'll blow a gasket completely. "And you realize why I left you on that beach, right? Do you remember?" she finally asks.

"Every fucking day of my life, Tatum," I answer without thinking. It's true. Every fucking day, when I least expect it, it creeps up on me. The memory of her. Of walking away from her. Of knowing that she isn't my girl anymore. It's with me all the time.

Maybe it's just me, but my confession seems to soften her. Tightening her grip on my hand, she leans forward. "She seems nice, I guess," she speaks in a low tone as her eyes dart over my shoulder. "But, Randy," she shakes her head and meets my eye. "Just don't spend all of your time trying to be her shoulder to lean on, okay?" I cock an eyebrow and she drops my hand, patting the top of it against the table. "Let her be yours sometimes, too."

I watch as she slides out of the chair and nods as Jamie comes around the other side of the table. Motherfucker, its like my every fantasy and nightmare coming true all at one time. They're both beautiful. Sexy as hell. If they wanted to climb up on top of the table, I wouldn't complain. OR, if they wanted to wrestle, in some sort of oil, I would offer to set up the ring in the backyard. But the way they size each other up tells me that they're not going to do either.

"Hi," Jamie offers in a soft voice, her hand resting on the back of her chair. There's something different about her right now, in the presence of another woman, one that she might perceive as a threat. Her shoulders square a little bit more than normal, and she holds her chin a little higher. It's fucking sexy.

Clearing my throat, I look to Jamie, but motion to Tatum. "James, this is my ex-girlfriend, Tatum." Reversing the motion, I look up to Tatum and motion toward Jamie. "Tate, this is Jamie."

Tatum extends her hand and Jamie takes it with a grace she doesn't know she possesses. "It's nice to meet you," my ex says with a smile, before turning a good-natured, teasing eye to me. "Randy's a good guy, ya know? Once you get past all of his bull shit."

She pats me on the shoulder once again as she exits, and Jamie sinks to her chair with a broad smile. I can tell she's watching Tatum head back to wherever she just came from, but I can't think about her. Not now. I have Jamie to focus on. And if I've learned anything over the years, I'm not all that good at dealing with more than one chick at a time.

"That's your ex?" she finally asks and I nod, lifting my water glass to my lips. I'm trying my best to look unaffected, to let her know that there's nothing left between Tatum and I. I'll make myself believe it later - for now, I just have to convince Jamie. "She's fucking hot," Jamie exclaims.

I roll my eyes. I'll be damned if I'm going to agree. "She's a peach."


	12. Behind Every Great Hero

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 12: _Behind Every Great Hero

**A/N: I feel like I need to warn y'all that this chapter is especially long, but it felt like it needed to be. This version of Randy is my favorite - at least, of the ones that I've written, and I've always wanted to explain exactly why he is the guy that he is. Why he cares so much about the girls that he's with and why he's so drawn to chicks who seem not quite like his type. I hope this chapter does that for you - that's my aim, and I kind of love it. Hopefully, you will, too! (Kim, you might need a tissue - I don't know.)**

* * *

When I first came to St. Louis, it was with every intention of knocking Randy Orton flat on his non-existent ass. He ruined everything in my world and I wanted him to hurt as badly as I did. Hell, I wanted anybody to hurt as badly as I did. Three days later, I don't know what's happened, and I'm not sure why I don't hate him. I should feel like the world is going to end tomorrow, but I don't. I certainly shouldn't smile so much when I'm around him, but I do.

It feels wrong, like I should feel guilty for enjoying this time, but not at all wrong at the same time. I know that probably doesn't make much sense. Nothing I've been feeling for the past few days makes much sense. I used to think my life was an emotional roller coaster of sorts, like it was never going to stop being up one second and down the next. Turns out, I was just standin' in line for the ride back then. Because since I met Randy? It's been ten times worse. Or better. Fuck, I don't even know.

I only know that Randy hasn't talked to me at all since we left the restaurant. Since we saw his amazingly sexy ex-girlfriend. Tatum is . . . I don't know how to explain or describe her except to say that she is the epitome of mystifying beauty. The kind you shouldn't find hella sexy, but you just do? That's Tatum, in a nutshell.

"Randy," I finally say after we've gotten home and made our way into the kitchen. "Are you okay?" He's spent so much time over the last few days checking on me. Seems like I should return the listening ear.

His back is turned as he looks for something in one of the kitchen drawers. I know he's not fixing a snack - he couldn't possibly be hungry after all of that fucking food we just snarfed down. "Yeah," he nods and shrugs his shoulders, his head bent in abject concentration. "Why?"

He's not okay. Years of living with a man who is not really big on the conversation have taught me how to read body language. Randy's says that he is riddled with thoughts. Of what, I'm not sure, but I'm betting they're dark and beautiful. "You've just been really quiet since we saw Tatum," I speak softly, in case he might be prone to snapping. I never used to cringe every time a man opened his mouth, terrified that I was going to get yelled at. Not before.

At the mention of her name, he drops whatever he was holding. "Tatum's," he starts and then slides the drawer shut, turning and shooting me the fakest fucking smile I have ever seen in my life. "It's a long story. She's, um," he shakes his head and I can almost see his thoughts rattling around in his head. "She's a recovering addict."

Wow. That girl, beautiful and clear-eyed, is a drug addict? Damn. "Well, it looks like she's maybe doing alright now. She looks good." I'm not really sure how to answer something like that. I mean, that statement alone lets me know that I don't really know anything about Randy Orton at all. I would have imagined all of his exes to be stunning supermodels with miles of legs and enormous, fake boobs. In my mind, they were all perfect. Not drug addicts.

"She does." His eyes never really rest on anything as he steps around me to open the refrigerator, withdrawing a beer. "She's actually really healthy now."

I want to express my . . . uh, my what? Congratulations? That's not the right word. I want to let him know that I'm happy for her, but I'm not entirely sure that he is. Not with that look on his face. "And that's not a good thing?" Guys say that we're confusing, but what about them? They're kinda fucked up, actually. Way more moody than we are, I think.

Randy leans back against the kitchen counter, resting his arm behind him against the marble. "No, it's great," he says in a tone that says it's not so great at all. "She just seems to think that she has all the answers now to everybody's problems. Since she's tackled her own shit or whatever." He rolls his eyes and it kind of bothers me.

I mean, he has every right to act weird about seeing his ex. But there's something else behind his eyes that I don't like. Something disgusted. Something almost angry. Resentful might be the right word for it. "But you don't think she has the answer for yours?" I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the refrigerator door.

"Most times, I'm not sure there's even a problem to have any fucking answers for," he speaks, his eyes drifting to the floor.

"And the other times?" I challenge. I want to help him through whatever issue he needs to work through. Maybe that will even the scales. Balance us and I won't feel so guilty for dumping all of my shit on him. But I can't do that if he won't open up to me. I'm starting to understand what Maria meant when she told me that learning to be friends with Randy was a slow, painful process and that nobody would blame me if I bailed on it.

When he raises his head, the look is different. I don't think he's angry anymore because it's not so firey, just defeated. Just a little boy, looking for someone to check under his bed for the monsters that wanna eat him in the dark. "I don't know," he smiles before taking another drink. "Maybe there is."

Butterflies slam against my stomach as I contemplate what to say next. If he doesn't wanna talk about it, he could fly off the handle and kick me out of the house. Wouldn't be the first time I slept on the porch. But if he does wanna talk, is he going to expect me to have some answers? Can I even think about solving someone else's problems when I can't solve my own? "You wanna talk about it?"

He chuckles cynically. "I never wanna talk about it," he informs me in a somber tone that nearly breaks my heart into a thousand pieces. Without another word, he brushes past me and down the hall toward his room.

And just like that, I feel as alone as I have ever felt in my entire life. Not just because he walked away, but because he shut me out. He wants to hear my problems whenever I want to talk about them. He wants to save the day for me, but he doesn't trust me to do the same for him. There's something behind Randy Orton's white knight complex. I know there is. I just don't know how to reach it.

* * *

Three hours after Randy left me alone in the kitchen, I'm laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I want to go to sleep, since it's about one in the morning and that's what people do at one in the morning. At least, in my experience. Or they have sex, and since that's not happening in this house - AT ALL - then I think I should be asleep.

Except that I can't sleep. I keep thinking about Josh. About his eyes, and the way his arms feel around me when we sleep. I think about how often I've dozed off to the sound of his snoring. About how I never really noticed that until it wasn't there. And I never realized how cold my back feels without his hot breath on it.

I have a million reasons to hate him - I know that. I'm not stupid, in case you were wondering. I know what he's doing to me. And I know that I'm letting him do it. I know all of the judgemental things that people say about girls like me, and I don't respect myself any more than you respect me. I don't. I never meant to be this girl - never meant to run in fear, or hide behind someone else. I never meant to cower at the feet of any man. I was as independent and free-spirited as anyone.

I feel like I shouldn't, but I miss him. I miss Josh. A part of me wishes that I could just go back and make everything like it was before. Not before I left. Before I met Randy. Before Randy noticed me in that bar. Before Josh took his job with Raw. I wish that we could edit it all, cut out the ugly fights and the possessive tirades. I wish that I could erase them all and just put together a montage of the beautiful moments when he makes me feel like a princess or says amazingly sweet things to me when no one else can hear.

"Her name was Dani," Randy's voice interrupts my musings and I roll my head to the doorway, where he leans in a pair of nylon track pants and a white tee shirt. "She wasn't a cheerleader. Wasn't the most popular girl in school or anything," he goes on, running his hand over his chin and staring at the wall as though her face might be etched there. "She was in a couple of clubs because her mom was a teacher and she made her get involved, but you could always tell she didn't want to be there." His lips twitch into a half smile of recollection. "She wasn't a loner or anything, but she wasn't the center of everything, either, ya know?"

I nod and hoist myself into a seated position, pulling my knees to my chest as he pushes off of the door frame and lowers himself to the foot of the bed. Honestly? I have no idea what he's talking about, but I owe him this. I owe it to him to listen to what he has to say. More than that, I want to hear it.

"Fuck, she was sexy," he finally laughs, his head falling back as he looks to the ceiling. "Darker than your average punk kid," he goes on, "but not quite goth, either. Long red hair and these blue eyes that just cut through to your soul. She wasn't unfriendly, but she was never the first to strike up a conversation, either.

"Might be hard to believe," he says, pivoting on the bed to face me, one leg bent on the mattress, "but I wasn't exactly this charming specimen of a man back then, so we didn't really speak to each other. At all." Picking at a thread on the bedspread, he just keeps shaking his head. "She was the girl who made me all tongue-tied, and I was the guy who stared at the back of her head like a creepy stalker all through English Lit."

I can imagine it, actually. As he loses himself in thought for a moment, I allow myself to picture high-school Randy, all shy and lookin' like that guy in the kitchen earlier. And I can picture Dani, all Avril Lavigne and aloof, ignoring him while he stared at the back of her head and daydreamed about the possibilities. It's endearing and makes him that much cuter than I already think that he is.

Randy licks his lips and looks at me with this boyish twinkle that I haven't seen from him in a long time, like thinking of his first love really does something to him. Something cleansing. "Dammit if every day that she didn't talk to me didn't make me want her that much more. Illusive," he nods as though that's the perfect word. "She was illusive."

"So who finally gave in first?" I ask, finding myself more sucked into this story than I expected to be. I want to know about this couple I'm picturing in my head, this awkwardly beautiful pair. Noticing each other but only from afar. Somebody had to give in. Knowing Randy, it was him doing something incredibly stupid that finally got her attention.

Turning fully on the bed, he stretches his legs and crosses them at his ankles, right next to me. "She did," he nods, his eyes shooting me this look that said she couldn't help herself, he was just so damn irresistible. And then he laughs because we both know that's a bunch of bull shit. "My dad was doin' a show in town, and her dad worked at the arena. I was hangin' around, like I always did when he was in town, and her mom dropped her off 'cause she was supposed to go to her dad's for the weekend.

"We met up smoking behind the building. She talked first. Mostly we just stared at the ground and nodded at whatever the other person might throw out there." And he's far away again. His eyes are fixed on the rainbows covering my sock, and this heart-breaking smile stretches over his full lips. "It was so high school. It was perfect, ya know? The best day of my life. Up to that point, anyway."

I stretch my legs, resting them next to his while thinking about my own high school loves. I didn' t really have one boyfriend - no big, bad love. That was Josh, years later. But I had crushes. And they were pure. Perfect, just like Randy said. For that reason alone, I can feel every vibe of innocent reminiscence radiating from him in this moment.

"After that," he finally begins to speak again, and I rest my head against the wall, allowing his movie to play out on the screen of the ceiling. "I don't really know how it evolved. I mean, she would smile at me in the halls. Dani didn't smile much, ya know, but when she did? Fuck, it was like everything else just stopped. She was like this total mystery to everyone, but I liked the fact that she dropped her guard with me. I would get out of wrestling practice, and she would be coming out of the yearbook office, and we'd walk home together and talk about whatever. One day, she started holding my hand so tight I thought she would never let go."

I let out a breath and speak without thinking. "Sounds like love." The most perfect kind of love. The kind that is untouched by sex and drama and bull shit adult egos. The kind of love I miss in the depths of my soul sometimes.

Randy nods. "It was. Intense, kinda terrifying love," he smiles and winks at me when I nod in agreement. We've both been there. Most everybody's been there at some point, I guess. First love is pretty universal, I suppose. "But everything about Dani was intense. Her music, and poetry, and her freaky little sketches in her notebook. She was like," he stops and searches for the right word, this amused grin breaking his lips when he thinks of it. "She was emo before it was the thing to be." I curl my nose - never a big fan of the whole 'my life sucks so bad as I sit here in my house in the suburbs' movement. "No, but it made her interesting," Randy defends, as though my accepting it would make it more valid. "Like way more interesting than any of those other chicks at school."

"Did she love you back?" I ask him the million dollar question, my eyes heavily-lidded with the cadence of his voice.

He leans back and rests his arms on the bed behind him. "She did," he answers with a nod. "Enough to believe in me when I told her I wanted to wrestle for a living." The slightest hint of a blush creeps into his cheeks, but he shakes it off. "I know that sounds stupid. It's girlie as all fuck," he begins to say.

"It's not stupid," I interrupt. It's not stupid. Not at all. "Everybody needs that," I assure him. I wish I had that. Of course, I don't say that. This isn't about me. But it's true.

Again, his focus leaves me and floats to somewhere in the distance. The distant past. Where he was just a kid, in love with another kid, and the world was exactly as it should have been. As it should be able to stay. Forever. "She was it, man," he laughs. "She was everything." Another laugh. Like true, genuine laughter. The kind of laughter that precedes an unexpected cry of longing and heart-wrenching pain. It's the kind of laugh that masks the hurt, that you pray will be enough to hold the tears at bay, but never really is.

But Randy doesn't cry. Not really. He raises one knee and rests his arm over it, running one of his massive hands over his blinking eyes, but he just grows quiet. Head in hand. His shoulders falling further than I have ever seen them under the burden of his memory. I don't know that I have ever wanted so badly to hug someone. To offer comfort. But I know there's only one thing that I can really do for him right now. I'm just not sure he wants me to press the issue.

Drawing my legs to my chest once again, I rest my chin against my knees and listen to him sniffle. "What happened, Randy?" Whether he wants to or not, the only thing that really makes it better is talking about it. He taught me that. A couple of days ago. Of course, it doesn't make anything better in reality, but it's a momentary band-aid for the never-healing bullet wound.

Standing, he begins to pace at the foot of the bed. "It was a Saturday afternoon. My mom took my brother and sister out of town to visit my dad. Her parents were at some conference in Chicago or something. It was the day," he shakes his head and stares out the window for a moment. "Felt like I'd been waiting for it forever, but we agreed that we were finally gonna do it."

The way he bites his lip tells me exactly what 'it' was. "Ah," I nod. "It."

"Every seventeen-year-old boy's dream, right?" he shrugs.

Most guys talk about their first sexual experience in one of two ways. They talk it way up like they were the mack from day one. Or they talk it way down, and make it a huge joke, so that they can laugh at it with everyone else. Nobody ever tells the truth about their first time. Nobody.

Except that Randy looks like he might break the mold. "I wasn't worth shit that day at practice," he kind of half chuckles. "Couldn't think about anything but being with Dani. Nerves started kickin' in, though, 'round the time I headed to her house. I think I puked in the bushes about a block away from her place. I mean, we both knew it was our first times. She told me about a million times that it was gonna be awkward and we just had to get past the first one to move on to the second."

"Doesn't matter," I finally manage to say, drawing Randy's gaze from the window. "Doesn't matter if you tell yourself it's gonna be weird. Or if someone else tells you. Still scares the shit outta ya." If you say that you weren't nervous the first time you had sex, I would probably say you were lying, at least the first time you weren't too drunk to forget it. Maybe you didn't puke in the bushes, but you were nervous. We all are. I was terrified. So was Randy. It makes sense to me.

He nods and we're on the same page again and, even if the players are different, the script is the same. "I was scared, but it didn't fucking matter. I was in love with her, and that was going to be enough to make everything else okay." He nods to the bed. "We were on her bed, and she was so tiny. And back then, I was tall and lanky. Still handsome," he smiles, sort of, as though he's trying to make a joke that doesn't quite connect. "But skinny. And even though we shouldn't have, didn't look like we should have, we fit perfect. Like we were meant to fit together, ya know?"

I did know. But there was nothing to say, so I just nodded.

"The nerves kinda came off with my shirt. I felt like it was the most important thing that would ever happen to me in my life. And not because it was sex. It wasn't just about the sex. Not for me. It was about sex with _Dani_. About being with her. As close to her as I could be. Closer than anybody else could be."

His face clouds in an instant and I find myself shivering against his suddenly cold demeanor. "Randy?" I ask when he says nothing, only leans against the wall and stares hard at the floor, as if he's left me alone in the room of perpetual young love and escaped to somewhere else. Somewhere painful.

"She got weird after that. Started tellin' me that I was the only person she ever trusted enough. She didn't tell me why," he answered my unspoken question as his hand ran over the top of his head. "Just took her shirt off, and then stood up and took her pants off. And I wasn't ready for it. At all."

A part of me wants so badly to push him further, to demand to know what he wasn't ready for. The sex? Something else? What wasn't he ready for? But something tells me this is the part of the story he needs to tell, the part I need to just shut up and hear. In his time. On his terms.

"For the jagged marks all over her stomach and her arms. These hideous, ugly scars. All over her thighs, too," he shakes his head and tears spill over his cheeks before he can catch them. He doesn't even try, though he does sniffle and take a deep breath. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. "Some of them were new. Some weren't."

Ya know what? I didn't see it coming. I was so wrapped up in this story of teenage love, that I nearly forgot this was Randy sharing something deeply painful. "Cutter?" I'm not sure where the whisper comes from, because it doesn't sound or feel like it's coming out of me.

He just nods. "It didn't matter, though. None of it mattered to me in that moment. She was beautiful. That didn't change just because she had a few scars, ya know?"

I can admit that I've had a crush on Randy since I met him - not to him, of course, but in my own mind. But I'm not sure I've ever been so crazy about him as I am when he speaks about this unconditional love that he had for Dani. I can't help wishing that Josh would get that same look in his eye when he talks about me.

"I think that's beautiful," I tell him through tears I didn't even realize had sprung to my own eyes. I wipe them with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, but he just shakes his head, as if to tell me I should reserve judgement until I've heard the whole story.

"I couldn't fuckin' get 'em outta my head, ya know? Couldn't stop thinkin' about 'em." He returns to the bed and sits next to me, leaned against the headboard. His arm brushes against mine when he crosses them over his chest. "So I asked about 'em about a week later.

"And she was totally honest about everything. Told me why she did it, how it all started. How she always felt like the world was crashing in on her, that she was losing control, that she had to release the pressure somehow." I don't know if this is the right way to describe him in that moment, but Randy seems like he's on autopilot now. He's not robotic, but I'm not sure he's really thinking about what he's saying anymore, or if he's just opening his mouth and letting the words tumble out. "It was so overwhelming. So fucking confusing."

"How could she love you like she said she did and keep doing that to herself?"

Randy shoots me a look that says he's a little frightened by how closely I understand the words he's not saying. The truth is that I've never been a cutter, but I can totally understand the need to get a grip on a world that won't stop moving. And I understand needing something that people say is unhealthy. I understand wanting to stop, wishing that I could, and not being able to, because the fear of the world outside of it is just too much to wrap my head around. I get that. I feel like I understand Dani. Maybe just a little.

He rolls his head back and sniffles again while looking at the ceiling, no longer trying to hide the tears. It's almost as though he's finally trusted me enough to show his emotions. At least, that's how I like to think of it. "She was my everything, ya know? I was just this shy little kid who thought he'd never stop out of his famous father's shadow when I met her. She made me believe in myself." He pauses and I know what he'll say before he says it. But I just shift my crossed arms to rest my fingers against his bicep. Anything to let him know that I'm here, that I'm listening. That I care. "Why couldn't I do it for her?"

Fuck. I wish that I could answer that question. Or that someone could answer it for me. I wish, not for the first time, that I wasn't so damn broken. That I wasn't so far beyond damaged. That I wasn't too fucked to help someone else. I wish that I wasn't worthless in this moment.

He sighs and weaves an arm around my shoulder. As my head rests on his chest, I feel tears balling in my throat. Not because it's a romantic gesture, but because it's the most comforting place I've ever been. If he can feel half of the peace that I feel in this place, at this very time . . . well, I just hope that he can. "She said that she loved me," he speaks over the top of my head and I can feel his chin brush against my crown. "Just that everything in the world didn't revolve around our relationship. That love didn't fix everything. We just weren't enough to drown out all the other bull shit in the world. In her past. The things she had seen, experienced, been through before me.

"I wasn't enough for her. Wasn't enough to save her from the other bull shit." I can feel his breath brushing against my scalp, hot and filled with sadness. It breaks my heart and I know that the tears have started to fall, but I can't stop them. "Didn't matter what I tried after that, new scars just kept showing up. I had them memorized." His hand runs lazily up and down my arm. I know he's not even thinking about it - it's an automatic response to human contact. "I knew when one hadn't been there before. And I knew they were getting worse."

For a long time we sit in silence, only breathing to fill the stillness between us. What do I say? What _can_ I say to that? And what does he say? I mean, where does the story go from here? I'm afraid, in a lot of ways, to find out. I'm afraid of the ending. For some reason, resting here with him, I feel like I need a happy ending. I need for this to turn out well.

Finally, Randy's throat clears and I feel his chest move beneath my ear. "When I left for boot camp after graduation, she promised to write. And she did, for awhile. Every day. Thoughts. Fears. Concerns. Excitement." He takes a breath and I feel his his head shake. "She couldn't wait to go to college. To get the fuck outta St. Louis and away from her life.

"And then the letters stopped. Just stopped cold, and by the time I got home, I was fuckin' freaked out, ya know? I mean, something was fucking wrong. She wouldn't answer my calls. She just disappeared." He squeezes my arm and sucks air through his teeth and I can tell this part of the story makes him angry. I can feel the shift in his body language. I think that might be even more comforting in it's familiarity than just having his arm around me. How fucked up is that? "Her mom finally answered her phone after three weeks of me callin' like a stalker. Told me that Dani cut too deep, had to be put in the hospital. Then they took her to a fuckin' psych ward.

"It was such bull shit, ya know? She wasn't fuckin' crazy. She didn't need professional help. She just needed to get away from the bull shit around us." He swallows hard and kinda releases me, not enough to push me away - just enough to resume circulation in my arm. I hadn't even realized it stopped.

I find myself shifting on the bed, staring up into his beautiful, tear-filled eyes. "Did you see her after that?" I don't know why, but I need for him to have seen her. I need for him to tell me that she made it. That maybe she's still out there waiting for him somewhere.

"Visited her a couple times," he answers, pulling his arm back to fold his hands in his lap and drum his fingers together. Like he's lost. Like he doesn't know what to do anymore. "She wasn't the same Dani that I left behind, though. They changed her. Made her talk about things she didn't want to talk about. Drew these feelings out of her that she didn't want to share with anyone else. They exposed her." His tone changes again - this time to frustration, or irritation. "They broke her down completely. And the girl that they rebuilt wasn't my Dani. Not anymore."

"Was she better?" He chuckles again and I kick myself inwardly for even asking. I mean, honestly? If she was better, would he be gritting his teeth and forcing himself to breathe through his nose?

Instead of blowing up, though, he just nods. "She said she was. Healthier." His shoulders shrug again. "I don't know - I guess she was. I didn't see her after that. After she got released. Don't really know what ever happened to her, either. Just kinda lost touch. High school love just drifted away, I guess."

It happens. I know it happens. With virtually everyone. The high school relationships that actually turn into adult relationships are so rare, so few and far between. Still, for right now? In this moment? It would be nice to believe that they didn't have to. That pure, innocent love could still exist.

Randy turns his body toward me, and we're facing each other on the bed. I don't know what I'm supposed to be feeling. I don't know what I _am_ feeling. I just know that I don't want him to stop talking. I don't want to leave this room, this moment. Ever. "Other girls came along, ya know, but they were mostly just flings. Perfect girls who had it all together, all the time. The ones that every guy is supposed to want. The ones I never did."

He's looking into my eyes and I'm not sure what he's trying to tell me. That I'm not perfect? I know that. Josh tells me that all the time. But it doesn't seem like a put down or an insult when Randy says it. It doesn't seem like a bad thing at all when he's smiling at me with that lop-sided, please-don't-think-I'm-a-freak-because-I-shared-my-feelings-with-you expression.

"Why didn't you?" I ask the only thing that pops into my head.

He smiles easily and rolls his shoulders, as though he's been in the same position for too long. "Perfect girls are pretty to look at, but they're not real, ya know? Not really. I mean, I'm not perfect. The world's not perfect. To be with someone who constantly tries to pretend that it is, that she is, only magnifies the imperfection around us. I can't be with a perfect girl," he concludes, as though it should be obvious. "Not for long term or anything."

Which brings us to drug addicted Tatum, I presume. "So you found an imperfect one?" Things about Randy start to come into focus for me in that moment, but I only roll off the bed and offer him a hand. "Take a walk with me," I invite. As much as I don't want to leave this BFF-cocoon we've created, we need to get out of this room. Out of this house for a minute. I need air that isn't tainted with his cologne and a never-ending sadness.

He follows me out of the room, and as we start down the stairs, he chuckles. "Tatum . . . she, um," he stops speaking until we reach the front door. "Tatum actually kinda found me."


	13. Modern Fairy Tale,Complete with Heroine

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 13:_ A Modern Fairy Tale, Complete with Heroine

**A/N: If there is anyone reading this story who did not read 'The Rest Will Follow' - this chapter will give you the highlights of the Randy/Tatum relationship. For those of you who did read it, I hope you enjoy running back over some of the events you've already seen play out. :)**

* * *

For a guy who talks so much shit in the ring, and so much about himself pretty much all the time, I don't really talk that much in real life. I mean, I talk to my friends about what's goin' on or whatever, but I don't really talk to them about my feelings. Maybe it's a guy thing - I don't know. I just know that I'd rather not open myself.

But something about Jamie makes me want to. It makes me want to tell her things that I've never told anyone. I tried my damnedest not to say anything, for three fucking hours, but when it came right down to it? I just couldn't hold it in anymore. Maybe ten years of damming up everything that happened with Dani back in the day really has taken a toll on me all these years. Maybe I really did need to get off of my chest.

By the time Jamie and I start down the driveway of my house, I can't help but admit to myself that I do feel better. Not that anything's really been accomplished, or solved. But it does feel alright knowing that I'm not harboring it on my own. And that she's still wanting to spend some time with me. She hasn't run off screaming, or thrown something at me and called me a fucking mess. That's gotta count for something I figure.

We reach the end of the drive and I lead off to the left. Jamie digs her hands into her pockets and looks over the dimly lit street. "So, Tatum?"

For all these new, fuzzy feelings I have at the 'break through' I've made with Jamie tonight, I can't say I wasn't hoping she would be done listening to my stroll down memory lane. It's a lot to deal with all at one time, ya know? "Tatum is Maria's best friend." I look to her, one hand in the pocket of my track pants, the other swinging easily at my side. "You know Maria, right? From work?"

She nods. "Yeah," she agrees, offering me a smile that nearly makes me forget what I was going to say next.

It's weird, because I've lived all this shit, not to mention thinking about it ad nauseum. Talking about it seems like watching a rerun for the nine hundredth time. I forget that not everyone knows what happens next. "Well, John and Maria got it in their heads that Tatum and I would be perfect for each other, so they set us up," I shrug, leaving out the parts about how I argued with John for months about trying to hook me up with some desperate fashion-magazine editor.

"And they were right?" Jamie asks, though the question is kind of irrelevant. Obviously they were right. She's my ex-girlfriend.

But I just nod, the picture of Tatum then, not the one I just saw earlier tonight, in my head. That Tatum was the one I stayed up all night talking about everything with. She was the one that captivated me when I didn't want to be captivated. "It was weird, I guess, cause she made me feel like nobody had since Dani. Six years, fuckin' around, one-night stands, never findin' that left-of-center personality. But Tatum?" I shake my head as the thoughts of her in that bikini, sitting next to me in John's pool, fill my brain. I know it's not polite to think of one girl while you're walkin' next to another, but Jamie asked for this. "She was different, man. The best kind of different."

Without a word, Jamie veers off of the street and toward the pond that sits behind the row of condos where I live. Over the last three days, she's fallen in love with that pond. Finds it soothing, she says. "The sexy kind?"

I can't help laughing. Already, she knows me so well. But instead of agreeing out loud, I nod. "She was nothing like Dani, ya know? But exactly like her in so many ways." I don't say it out loud, because I'm pretty sure that Jamie already figured it out, but they were both emotional messes. Dani and Tatum? That sexy different thing that I was so attracted to? It was the fact that they were both fucked up. That they looked at the world through this skewed veil of tragedy.

Jamie opens her mouth to speak and then closes it again, shaking her head and smiling to herself, as though she wants to say something, but just can't think of the words. Instead of speaking, she lowers herself to the ground beside the pond and looks up at me, waiting for me to sit.

I do, mostly because I can't imagine being anywhere but right beside her in this moment. Watching the moon glitter over the water, listening to the crickets in the distance, and feeling her sleeve brush against my arm. "I didn't set out to save her," I finally inform her. "I know that's what you're thinking." She doesn't bother to deny it. "That's what everybody thinks. But that's not what it was."

"What was it?" she asks, pulling her knees to her chest, like she did on my bed a few minutes ago.

It's a good question. I wasn't purposely trying to save Tatum. I know that I wasn't, regardless of what John or anyone else might say. "I didn't even know she had a problem," I assure Jamie, plucking a blade of grass at my side and rolling it between my fingers. "Not when we first met. We drank together. Both smoked weed to unwind when I got home from the road. It was just," I toss the grass and shrug my shoulders, "easy. Same kind of easy that it was with Dani."

Until this moment, I don't think I've ever really noticed the similarities between Dani and Tatum. I mean, I knew they were both different than the girls I was "supposed" to date, but I didn't know that they were so close to each other. Not because I'm an idiot, though maybe that is part of it. But I have refused, for so long, to allow myself to think about Dani. I've shut that out for awhile now. And I've been trying to do the same with Tatum. I didn't exactly make a compare and contrast chart, ya know?

Jamie sniffles as the wind off the pond blows a strand of her hair across her face. I don't know if she's crying, or just reacting to the chill in the air, but either way? She's beautiful. I know I keep saying that, but I don't think I've fully wrapped my head around it. She's just . . . she's beautiful.

"The secrets were different," I tell her, working my way through the similarities for myself more than her. "But the cover up was the same. And I didn't even realize it until it was too late. I just went on, taking care of the evidence. Hiding and protecting her the best I could." I stop talking. I don't know how the fuck to describe what happened next between me and Tatum. How do I put into words why I walked away? I'm still not sure I can justify that to myself. "I kept trying to fix her," I say. "And then," my shoulders fall, "I couldn't."

That's it. I couldn't do it. It's the only explanation I can offer and I hope that it's enough for her. Because I'm not sure that I can give her anymore.

Jamie turns, folding her legs Indian-style as she faces me. "Couldn't what?"

Jesus, she wants more. I couldn't what? I always carefully consider what I'm going to say to everyone - my family so they don't worry. My co-workers so they don't ask questions. My friends so they don't try to offer their advice. But where has that gotten me? Where has shutting my fucking mouth and bearing all of this bull shit by myself ever gotten me? Right here, a fuckin' mess with two colossally failed relationships under my belt, with no idea of how to cultivate anything healthy with anybody that the rest of the world would see as normal, that's where.

"Couldn't hide it anymore," I speak without thinking. "Couldn't keep up with the double life. On the road, I was on the top of my game, ya know? On top of the world. Jesus, I had everything that everybody wanted. Belt, fans, looks." I cock my eyebrow and she rolls her eyes. It's the most satisfying look anyone has ever given me, quite frankly. "But there was this constant pain in my gut. This churning ache that would never go away.

"I was always worrying about why Tatum didn't call, about what I was gonna find when I got home." Shaking my head, I force back the tears that prick the back of my eyes at the memory of that night. The night that everything changed with Tatum. "I came home, and she was passed out on the couch, lookin' like somethin' out of a movie." Remember how strung out and skeletal she was? Remember that night? I sure as hell do, and it makes my heart pound and my mouth go dry. I try to let Jamie see it, too. "Bottles and pipes all over the table and the floor. It was so fuckin' . . . I don't fucking know what it was. Just fucking over."

My voice catches in my throat and Jamie reaches over the space between us to rest her warm hand on my leg. Normally, I would take it as a sign to return the favor, but right now, I'm not thinking about gettin' with a totally hot chick. Tonight I'm not thinking about anything other than how nice it feels to have someone shut up and listen to me for once, without telling me what to do. Without expecting anything from me.

"I was sure that was the night I was gonna lose her. And I just couldn't," I repeat the same line from earlier. "I couldn't do it anymore." A tear escapes without permission and I chase it away with my thumb and a blink. "So I left her a note and took off. Though I was doin' the right thing, ya know? I really thought that it was gonna be the best thing for her." I don't even think about it when I cover her hand with mine. "And I thought that I would stop worrying about her, stop thinking about her. I could stop trying to cover everything up and just be the guy that everybody thought I was.

"Except that I couldn't do that either. I couldn't stop thinking about her. Couldn't stop the worrying. I couldn't fucking stop loving her." When Jamie cringes, I realize I've squeezed her hand too tight. Letting her go, I run the hand that's just been in hers over my face and give her a look that says I'm sorry.

She just holds it up and lets me know that it's okay, and rubs her wrists to regain circulation. I'm an asshole, ya know? Here's a broken, beautiful woman who pretty much gets her ass beaten on a daily basis, and I'm bruising her arm? I'm an asshole.

And she's the graceful one who just reaches out and takes my hand in hers again. "But she's okay, right?" I just nod, too taken by the gentle way that she's handling me, the fingers of her free hand running over my palm and my wrist. "And that's what eats you?"

"No," I deny, maybe too quickly. "I mean, I'm glad she's happy, and healthy, ya know? That's all I've ever really wanted for her." And that's not a lie. I have always wanted Tatum to be healthy. I have always wanted her to be better than she has ever been. I love her. Loved her. Whatever.

Jamie shifts her legs, resting one of them over mine on the grass. "But you couldn't be the one to fix her. Just like you couldn't fix Dani." Applying the slightest pressure to my fingers, she lifts them to her mouth. "Just like you can't fix me."

I could say that I don't want to fix her, but we both know that would be a lie. You know it, too. It's what I do. I fix. I see a girl who's more fucked up than I am, and I try to help her through it. Because I need to. Because I need to know that I'm fuckin' enough for someone. Just once. Why can't I be enough for Jamie? Why can't I?

"I know what it's like, Randy," she whispers against the wind as it whistles through the taller grass near the edges of the pond. "No matter how hard you try, you just can't convince yourself to leave well enough alone. You can't believe that you're not enough. That nothing you try is ever going to make him happy. That he's never going to be happy if he's not in control."

Even though I'm well aware that we're no longer only talking about me, I can't help but marvel at how accurate her assessment is. And how similar we are. Ya know, I've spent this whole time with Jamie feeling like I had something to offer her, like I could make her better. Maybe Tatum was right - maybe I need her to lean on just as much as she needs me.

"You never thought you'd be like this. Never thought you'd feel so weak. So powerless. So useless. And you know, every day, what you're doing, but you can't stop. You tell yourself it's because of love, or because of some higher, noble purpose. Because fear of being alone sounds too pathetic to admit. Because fear is weakness." She runs her tongue over her lips and shakes her head, her eyes squinted against the tears, crumbling before my eyes.

I nod and open my arms to her. As Jamie curls up in my lap, staring out over the still, tranquil waters, surrounded by so many homes, so many people, but completely undisturbed, I can't help burying my nose in her hair. Not because I'm trying to seduce her, or have her, or claim her. But because we both need to know, in that moment, that we're not alone. That someone else knows. That they feel. That they understand.

With a soft sigh of contentment, she turns her face, resting her cheek against my chest. I can feel her breath on my throat and it's soothing, like drinking hot chocolate used to be after sledding in the winter when I was a kid. Her voice gives me the same peaceful, easy feeling that my mom's used to give me when I was a kid, wondering where in the hell my father was when the monsters in my closet needed to be drop-kicked.

"Randy," she whispers into the darkness. I grunt my affirmation, afraid that my voice will ruin the moment, that hearing it will shatter the bubble that we've surrounded ourselves in. "It's not the fear that keeps me where I am, ya know?"

I just nod. Though I'm not sure I buy that, I'm not willing to interrupt her. I'm not willing to tell her that she's wrong. I mean, after tonight, what right do I have? Instead, I just wrap my arms around her and whisper, as softly as I can, "What is it, then?"

Glancing down at her, I see her eyes drift shut. "It's because for so long," she speaks in the tiny, vulnerable sound of a child, "I've forgotten how to be anything else." A tear springs to my eye before I can stop it, trailing over my cheek. I know what she means. I've forgotten, too, how to be anything other than Super Randy, rushing in to save the damsel in distress. I've forgotten how to be anyone else. "Until now."

I nearly miss her statement, in the rush of my own thoughts, but it settles over me. She's saying that I give her hope, isn't she? I'm not imagining that? I mean, maybe I'm not enough to fix her situation, to make everything all better. But I'm enough to let her feel safe. At least for now. I'm enough to let her dream of a life outside of Josh and the bull shit that he brings with him. For the first time in my life, in this moment, I feel like I'm enough. For right now, it's all I need.


	14. The Most Important Decision EVER

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 14: _The Most Important Decision EVER

**A/N: Just wanted to let y'all know, super quick, that I'm flattered and honored by the response I've gotten to this story - the way that you've taken to Jamie, and at times even seen yourself in her, floors me. You guys are the best and your words of encouragement mean the world to me. Also, I decided that this story is going to be the second part of a trilogy and that I will start posting the third story soon after I've finished posting this one. If you loved Tatum, you won't be disappointed. If you love Jamie, again, you will not be disappointed. And if you love Randy, I promise you won't be disappointed. All three will be giving their perspective on how their lives turn out and end up. But for now, let's just settle for finishing Randy and Jamie's story together, shall we?**

* * *

Ten days ago, when Randy got the call that he was cleared to come back to work, I threw up. Not in front of him, of course. I took a walk, and somewhere around the third block, it just hit me. I mean, it wasn't the reaction I was expecting, but the truth is that I wasn't thinking that far ahead. Every day was a new step toward some sort of inner peace, and I wasn't thinking about the big return. I was trying pretty fucking hard to believe the things that Randy and I had talked about, the things that we were working through together. For some reason, I think empowerment is easier when you don't think about the machine that drove you into the ground in the first place.

I just wasn't ready for the fear, the anticipation, the dread, the anxiety, and the hope that washed over me in this overwhelming torrent of emotion. There was no other way to purge myself of it all than to, well, purge myself. But ya know what the really fucking sick thing is? I think it helped. I do, because after that? I was ready. Ready to face it. All of it. The new job, the new lifestyle, and Josh.

Truth be told, I was pretty damned stoked to see him again. I mean, there was fear, of course. If he was angry enough, he surely could do to me ten times worse than he ever had in the past. But I didn't believe that was going to happen. A part of me truly believed that he would see my transformation, see how happy I was with myself, how much my little retreat from reality had done for my esteem and my confidence. There was a part of me that thought he would love me more because I loved myself. And fuck if I didn't want him to love me more.

Don't get me wrong, Randy is a nice guy. A super nice guy. And hot. Shit, is he ever smokin' hot. But he's not Josh. And I know you probably don't understand this, unless you've ever had one of those bleeding loves that Leona Lewis sings about, but I have known from the moment I met Josh Lafferty that we were meant to be together. Forever. And relationships go through up and down times. You get comfortable and you take each other for granted. But you work through it. You work on the things that you need to work on as individuals, and then you work on the couple things.

Well, I did that. I worked on the things I needed to improve upon. I found an inner strength. And I'm not taking shit anymore. Not that I've had to. Not yet. I mean, since I've been back, over the last week, everything with Josh has been heavenly. Perfect. Everything that I dreamed it would be. There were tears. From him, even. Yep, he cried.

When we arrived in San Diego, I called Josh to let him know that I was back. We weren't even through the doors of the hotel before he crushed me into a hug and started whimpering about how he thought he'd never see me again. For the next three hours, we sat in our room, and he told me that he was going to change, that things were going to be different, that he didn't know what he had until it was gone.

And for three hours, I told him that it was going to have to be different, that I couldn't keep living like we had been, but that I didn't want to lose him, either. I guess, if I'm really laying it all out there on the line, it was the most honest I've ever been with him. For the first time, I told him what I wanted our relationship to be, and he nodded his head, promising me that it was going to be everything I wished for and more. And I believed him. Because there were tears, and Josh never cries about anything.

"You look stunning tonight, James," Josh says as he leads me by the hand into a restaurant outside of San Antonio, Texas.

I feel like a princess on his arm. It's only been about a week since we've been back together, but I can tell that he's really trying. He's snapped a few times, but that's not exactly a big deal. And when I tell him that I'm not in the mood, or that I need some space, he backs off without a question. Once, I even scolded him for not putting the cap back on the toothpaste tube and he just told me that he would remember next time. No anger. No backhand. Nothing. Just a nod and an agreement. Things are clicking, guys. Really clicking.

My new job, which he has said nothing negative about either, by the way, starts on Monday. As does his stint with Smackdown. After only a week together, we're going to be ripped apart, and that's going to be hard. I mean, we spent nearly two weeks apart already. I'm not sure either of us is really jumping at going months at a time without seeing each other. We need this dinner, this time alone, to talk about the logistics of this whole long-distance relationship thing.

As we wait for the hostess to seat us, Josh takes my hand and then smiles over my head. "I hope you don't mind, baby," he grins broadly, turning me around, "but I invited another couple to join us.

Okay, this I was not expecting. I can only pray that the smile on my lips looks more real than it feels. "Hi," I manage to squeak out before his mother embraces me in a huge, flowery perfume hug that threatens to suffocate me.

"Jamie, Sweetheart," Evelyn gushes as she releases me and holds my shoulders, her eyes drifting over my body. If I was paranoid, I would think that I saw a look of disapproval in her eyes, but I'm trying to pretend to be more confident these days. "I have to admit, we were a little bit worried when the show came through town and you were AWOL, but Joshua told me about your mother," she goes on, shaking her head as the hostess leads us to our table.

Josh's father says nothing, but that's not unusual. His mother is a talkative woman, somewhat overbearing, and I don't usually speak much around her, either. Come to think of it, neither does Josh. I've always thought that Evelyn might be part of the reason that Josh lashes out like he does. Any man who spent the better part of his childhood completely dominated by his mother is bound to have some issues with emasculation and assertion. Of course, I keep that theory to myself.

I don't listen to much of the conversation between Josh and his parents, to be honest. I can't help thinking, instead, of Josh's mother's statement. Josh never mentioned to me that he had even seen his parents when Raw was back home. In fact, I'm pretty sure he told me that they were so busy that he didn't even have time to look his friends up. And what was that shit about my mother? What did he make up about her that caused his mother to look at me in that _'I don't know how you deal with that woman'_ way?

I mean, I guess I can understand his not wanting to tell his parents that we were having problems. I didn't exactly call my mother to cry about it, either. But that's because my mother is fucking alcoholic who barely knows how to answer the phone anymore. Yeah, I know that doesn't really make my argument, but as far as I know, Josh has never told his parents that. Because I asked him not to. Of course, he's done a lot of things in the past that I've asked him not to.

His father is telling him some story about work, one that his mother keeps interrupting for whatever reason or another, but I can't really pay attention while my brain is in 'churn' mode. It's amazing how the human mind works, ya know? One little seed of doubt or frustration or irritation just blossoms into something that occupies your every thought. It fucking sucks.

Now I'm thinking about how Josh wasn't too tired to play poker with the boys after the show last night, but he damn sure couldn't keep his eyes open to talk about our impending separation. I can't help wondering if there's something to the fact that Vince told him to take this week easy and gear up for a whole new set of challenges on Smackdown, yet he's been working more hours than I ever remember him working. And I can't help wondering if he didn't fly his parents in, from across the country, just to avoid the discussion once again.

I think he's trying to deny the inevitable. Which I would think is sweet, except that it's not going to solve anything. I'm not going to know where we stand, and neither is he. And thirty minutes into the meal, I'm starting to get a little bit pissed. Maybe I'm way off - I hope that I am - but it wouldn't be completely out of the question for Josh, ya know?

By the time the waitress takes our dinner plates and offers the dessert menus, I can barely see the table in front of me. I need to clear my head. Need to take a breath. Need to recenter myself and remember that this Josh sitting beside me is not the same one that Randy has been painting as the villain of the story for the last couple of weeks.

"Excuse me," I say softly as I stand, gripping my purse in my hand. "I'll be right back," I assure Josh when he lifts his eyes to me in confusion.

He touches my arm with a warm, but firmly disapproving, hand. "Where are you going?" he asks, like he's trying to whisper even though his mother and father can clearly hear.

Through gritted teeth, I pull my arm back. "To the bathroom," I respond, though a butterfly kicks up in my stomach at the irritated look in his eyes. I don't want to piss him off. I don't want to anger him. Not because I'm scared, though I'm sure that's what you think. But because I don't like hurting the man I love. But I just really need a minute outside of this room.

Stepping outside, I cast a glance through the large window at the front of the restaurant, content that I can't see Josh and his parents, which means they probably can't see me. Dialing my phone quickly, I wait for him to pick up. "Come on," I whisper as it rings for the fourth time. What the fuck happened to 'anytime, anywhere you need me'?

Voice mail. Great. Stupid fucker. "Randy," I say when the beep sounds, maybe against my will. Maybe it's what I wanted all along - to leave a message without actually having to hear him talk me out of this. Whatever this is. "It's Jamie," I identify myself, in case he thinks any other crazy bitch would call him and whisper like a coward. "I think something's up with . . ." What am I doing? Why am I even calling him? What the fuck is this going to accomplish? Am I going to call him every time I need a shot of confidence in my ass? Is that what I'm doing now? Trading one crutch for another? "Ya know what? Never mind. I'll talk to you later."

I flip the phone shut and toss my hair over my shoulders. This is my life. The one that I created for myself. The one that I want. Is Josh perfect? No. Would I like to resolve some of our issues, especially this trust one that, if I'm completely honest, has been plaguing me since long before I crawled to Randy's front door, before we head off in opposite directions? Of course, I would. But that's a fairy tale. And that's not where I live.

Squaring my shoulders, I head back into the restaurant with new resolve. Sort of. I feign it pretty well, actually. "Everything okay, baby?" Josh asks as I slide back into the seat beside him and tuck my hair behind my ears while I nod.

I can't say anything because I've just looked at the one place I thought would be safe. At my dessert plate. Except that instead of a cherry on top of my cheesecake sundae, there's a brilliantly shining diamond ring. Way bigger than a fucking cherry. "Fuck," I whisper under my breath, my heart nearly stopping.

"James, I love you," Josh starts, his body turning toward me. I hear his mother giggle from what sounds like a million miles away. "You are everything I have ever wanted in a woman. Everything I have ever dreamt of finding." Pushing his chair away, he gets on his knee, and takes my left hand. "I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else. Will you marry me?"

Well, now, there's the million dollar question. Will I marry him? When two minutes ago, I was seriously doubting that I even trusted him? Will I marry him? When it's clear to anyone with an ounce of common sense that we have a million issues to work through still? Will I marry him? When my gut is screaming that it's the beginning of a life of promises that will never be kept or come true? "I, um," I stammer, completely shocked and unsure of where to look or what to say or how to feel.

"Darling, my son is waiting for you answer," his mother's voice reaches my ears once again, and it suddenly feels like she's not so far away. Like she's right beside me. Breathing down my neck. Pushing me. Pressuring me. Demanding that I make a decision that I know I'm not ready to make.

I love Josh. Of that much, I am sure. We have seen better and worse and I still love him. We've seen richer and poorer, sickness and health. He has had me, and held me. I love him. That should be enough for as long as we both shall live, right? It should be enough.

But is it? That's the question. Is it enough? Will I _marry _him?


	15. Superman on a White Horse

**Man in the Making  
**_Chapter 15: _Superman on a White Horse

**A/N: Okay, so this is the final installment of Man in the Making, a title which was inspired, by the way, from a Holly Williams song of the same name that seemed to so perfectly fit Randy's character. As I mentioned yesterday, the new story is under way, the third in the trilogy, and hopefully you'll be anxiously awaiting it. We'll see. Anyway - Enjoy!**

* * *

It's weird how life works, ya know? I mean, you think you're headed firmly in one direction. Sites set, compass workin' just fine. And then, like the snap of a finger, everything changes. You get a job offer, meet a girl, try some new hobby that just blows your mind. Everything just tilts and swirls and the world is different.

I don't know - maybe it's just me. I mean, I thought that I had it all figured out. I thought that I knew where I was headed, exactly how my life was going to turn out. I was gonna marry Tatum, wrestle until I was as old as Flair, and then retire, buy a boat, and cruise around the Caribbean with the sexiest woman I have ever known. That was the plan. That was the way things were supposed to turn out.

But now? Tatum's out of the picture. probably for good. If I can't get my shit together, I'm not gonna have a job for another six months. Vince made that pretty fuckin' clear in my 'welcome back' meeting. And if I keep rackin' up these fines, I'm not gonna be able to afford on of those little paper sail boats my brother and I used to make, let alone a yacht to sail the open seas. Nothing is as I pictured it.

Ya know what the weirdest fuckin' thing is, though? I mean, the strangest bull shit of all? I'm not bothered by it. I mean, parts of it are disturbing. The whole 'getting fired' thing's not fun to think about. And if I'm super-honest, the idea of being without Tatum for the rest of my life kinda stabs me in the heart still. I tell myself all the time that I'm over her, but I'm not really trying to be. 'Why not,' you ask? Because it's fucking hard to get over somebody who consumed you for so long. I kinda thought that rushing headlong into something else would make it easier. But seeing her a month ago. Shit.

And then there's Jamie. Beautiful, sweet, still madly-in-love with her dickhead boyfriend Jamie. Tatum was right about one thing that night in the restaurant - I needed to open up to somebody. And after that, for the rest of the time we hung out at my place, I could feel the shift between Jamie and I. We became friends. Started helping each other talk about things, and realize things. But I'm not a complete idiot. She's still in love with Josh, and I'm not sure that's going to change any time soon.

So what does that mean for my long term plan? Hell if I know. I mean, I've been sittin' here, watchin' the lights bounce off the hotel pool for the last two hours, tryin' to figure it out. I'm not over Tatum. Jamie's still with Josh. We don't belong together. Not as a couple. Not right now. But in about three hours, we're gonna pull out of here together. She's riding with me and Cena and Maria to Raw in Phoenix. Josh is heading out with the Smackdown crew for Tucson. And I don't have a fucking clue what happens next.

I stare at the water, but I can hear footsteps on the cement coming toward me. A tap of boot heels, gentle and slow-moving. She lowers herself into the chair across the table from me, and claps her hands together as she leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. When I look over, I can't help letting out a low whistle. "Wow," I nod my head, leaning back in the chair. Not the most brilliant thing to say, but what I see shocks me.

She nods and casts her eyes out over the water. "It's a token of our love," she speaks dryly, her expression never really reaching her eyes.

"What happened?" I ask her, crossing my ankle over my knee and running my hand over my face. Part of it is to clear whatever traces of horror might be lingering there. The other part is to keep myself from springing out of the chair and going to find Josh, to give him the fat lip and swollen face that matches Jamie's. Maybe I'll do the right side of his to mirror the left side of hers. Fucker.

Jamie takes a deep breath and finally leans back, resting her arms on the sides of chair. "He flew his parents in, took me to dinner, and asked me to marry him." She shakes her head like she can't believe it.

I can. I mean, it's classic, isn't it? Watch your girl finally grow some balls and walk away? You thought you had her broken down far enough to fit into your back pocket, and then she builds herself back up again? Ya might actually lose the one person in the world who believes you aren't a complete dick face? You do whatever you have to do to get her back. It makes perfect sense to me, even if Jamie was startled by the proposal.

"Well," I finally say, letting out a deep breath and turning my face back to her, forcing myself to look at her bruises. "Either you said 'no' or he's got a really fucked up way of celebrating." I know she's gotta be in agony, but I think it's hurting me just as badly to see her like this. She's a good girl, Jamie is. She lost her way for awhile, but she was on the path to finding it again. To see her like this makes my chest ache.

She just shrugs, like she's trying to be tough. Like she's talking to somebody other than me. Somebody she didn't spend two weeks falling apart with. "Hurt worse last night," she says simply.

I want to knock that wall down. The one that she came to me with. The one that started cracking when she was at my place. But ya know what? I can't. I just can't do it anymore. I can't fix her. This thing, her issues? They're bigger than me. I can't keep fighting someone who doesn't wanna fight with me. And for that reason, I don't know what to say right now. I don't know how to offer her comfort. I can't keep pretending that I do.

The silence engulfs us. Not even the waves move in this enclosed pool area, and it's kind of eerie. Not because she's sitting next to me, looking like a human punching bag. Not even because she's not saying anything. It's because my own thoughts are becoming more clear. Because the truth is dancing in the front of my mind and I don't know what to do with it. I've been pushing it back for so long, but right now? In this moment? There's nothing left to distract me anymore.

"He never used to catch me unprepared," Jamie speaks, finally breaks the silence, and I pull myself out of my own mind to listen. "Any time he would push me, or smack me around, or even punch me, I was always ready for it." She chuckles a bit, as though she realizes how ridiculous that is. "I was always expecting it, at least. Saw it building. Braced myself for it." Picking at a spot on her knee, she shakes her head and starts to catch her lip between her teeth but then cringes. "Not this time, though."

I wanna say something. I really do wanna insert some grain of brilliant wisdom, but I don't have any. Partially because, no matter how I try to pretend I'm Superman, John was right. I'm in over my head. My other girls, Dani and Tatum? Their issues were kind of self-inflicted. They brought themselves to their own destruction. I don't know how to help someone who's letting someone else do it to them.

No, that's not true. I do know someone who has built relationships on someone else's destruction. I know someone, pretty damn well in fact, who has let other people drag them down and stomp on every ounce of belief they used to have, in themselves and the rest of the world. Pretty damn well indeed.

"I screamed." She shakes her head and lets out another chuckle. "Some guys like it when their girls scream. Makes 'em feel like they're in control. Like they have the power. But not Josh. He was trying to make me stronger. Toughen me up, he always says." This time, she doesn't laugh. Just lets out a long sigh. "Plus, we travel with a lotta people, ya know? Can't have everyone in the company hearin' me carry on. It's nobody else's business what goes on in our room.

"But I didn't see it comin' last night. I didn't wanna embarrass him in front of his family, so I told him that I needed some time to think about it, about the proposal. And then, in the car, I told him that I thought we had some issues to work through before we even thought about marriage. He just nodded along and said that he wasn't surprised. That he was just proposing to make me turn down the job offer anyway."

He's a fucking liar. I don't tell her that, but he is. He was posturing. Shruggin' off his rejection. It's a guy thing. And I don't like the fact that I'm identifying with Josh in anyway, but I woulda done the same thing. Not the beating. Just the lying to make sure I didn't look too crushed and pathetic. It's a pride thing.

She pulls her knees up to her chest and blinks back tears. I know this has got to be hard for her, reliving it all just a few hours after. But I didn't ask her for this. I didn't ask her to open up. This is all Jamie. I'm not going to push her to go on.

"I was packin' my shit, gettin' ready for today and everything, and I turned around to grab my hair dryer off the dresser," she stares at the floor like she's watching a movie on the cement. "Meet his fist with my mouth and it shocks the hell outta me. So I scream, and I guess it's fuckin' scary or whatever, cause there's this knock on the door and Josh yells at whoever's there to mind their fuckin' business and let him handle his."

It's like she's back in that room, no longer sitting here with me. Her eyes are glazed over and there's no emotion in her voice. She's not thinking about her words. She can't. The reality of it all is too fresh. The same way I told John about me and Tatum. If you think about it, you cry or freak out or do something completely fucking dangerous. So you don't think. You just speak and hope that it makes some sort of sense.

She goes on. "'I'm thinkin' he's gonna stop, 'cause people can hear, but he doesn't. Cause he's fuckin' irritated now. Beyond irritated. Pissed at me for openin' my fuckin' mouth. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to kill me," she says, almost like she's telling me that he ordered chicken for dinner. "Called me a bitch, told me I fuckin' ruined his life. I guess I was distracted or whatever, thinkin' this was it and I was gonna die, so I didn't really see his fist again. Just fell back against the bed. My cheek felt like it was on fire, and I remember thinkin' "Momma was right." That was all. Just that my mom was right about him.

"Next thing I know, he's straddling me, 'bout to start in again, and the door busts open. Stephanie's yellin' somethin' and Hunter comes chargin' at Josh, but he's already in mid-swing, right? So when Hunter grabs him, he can't stop the momentum. Landed a fist square in Hunter's jaw."

"Oh, shit," I gasp without thinking. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm laughing. Because I couldn't have sealed Lafferty's fuckin' fate any better if I tried. But I can't laugh. "That's enough to get your ass fired right there," I mumble.

Jamie nods. "And arrested." She rests her chin on her knees and looks at me through thick lashes. "I know this is gonna sound fuckin' crazy, because I love him and I shouldn't feel like this." She blushes wildly and looks over toward the water. "It's just kind of a . . ."

"Relief?" I fill in for her, though I'm not sure I'm talking to her anymore. It's the same thing I felt when things ended, for good, with Tatum. Like the ride was fucking amazing, like I might wanna get in line to ride again, but I'm glad it's over at the same time. Like maybe I can find some stable ground again. Like maybe the world can stop spinning for a second.

She nods and lets her legs fall to the ground. "At your house, I realized something. You and me?" She reaches over and rests her hand over mine. "We're not that different from each other, ya know? Fightin' like hell to fix the things that we don't like about the people we love? Making sure that nobody ever has to feel as badly about themselves as we do.

"But when you were talking about walking away from Tatum, you said you just couldn't do it anymore. Last night, when Josh proposed to me, what you meant clicked. He said that he was going to change, and maybe he would have for a minute, but we both knew it wasn't going to last. And the more I thought about spending the rest of my life like that? I just couldn't do it. Couldn't live in fear." Squeezing my hand, she smiles, a tear glistening in her eye. "And you helped me see that."

I appreciate the compliment, ya know? I do. But I'm not thinking about saving her right now. "I've spent my entire adult life sitting on top of this fucking white horse, just waiting to ride in and save the day. But the kicker is that most of the time, I'm just steering the damn thing in a fucking circle." I don't know where the words come from - it's not exactly what I've been thinking about for the last couple of hours. But with Jamie, I've learned the things that need to be said just kinda tumble out when I stop trying to figure out the right thing, and just say what I'm feeling.

She stands from her chair and holds out a hand to me, leading me to the edge of the pool. Lowering herself to the ground, she slips her boots off and rolls her jeans up, sinking her feet into the still water. "You know what the problem is with being up on that horse, Randy?" she asks as I join her. "You miss all the shit that's goin' on down on the ground."

She's right. In my gut, I know that what she's saying is right because that is what I've been thinking for the last two hours. I've been thinking about everything I've missed. Everything I could have been if I hadn't been so consumed with fixing Tatum. If I hadn't been so intent on fixing Dani. If I hadn't spent so much time trying to fix Jamie. I've been thinking about the things that I could have done for me.

She looks at the waves her feet are making in the pool and shakes her head for what seems like the millionth time. "I have been travelling with this company for two years, and I hadn't talked to Stephanie until last night. Hadn't talked to you until a couple of months ago. The rest of the cast and crew? Nothin'. Never spoken to any of them. Never said 'Hi, my name's Jamie, how's it goin'?' or anything. This whole world that I've been in? I've never been a part of it."

The weird part is that I feel like that, too. I talk to all of those people. I spend more time with the guys in this company than I do with my own family. But I'm not a part of it, either. I can't be. Not when I'm always trying to fix it.

She reaches over and rests her hand on my thigh and I can feel the heat from her fingers seeping through my jeans. "Maybe, instead of riding in on the white horse to save everybody else," she smiles with the raise of her eyebrow, "it's time you jump down and work on saving yourself."

It's the same thing John said to me months ago. Stop tryin' to save everybody else and start saving myself. Except that I don't know how to do that. And I'm not sure how to figure it out. "When Tatum and I broke up," I start, looking at Jamie and then looking away. This is hard for me, guys. This is the first time I've ever said this out loud and I'm not sure that I can look into Jamie's soulful eyes while I do it. "She told me that being with me made her want to use. That I was, like, some reminder of her addiction. And I thought she was crazy at the time, but I think maybe she was right, ya know?

"I think I need to be alone for awhile. To figure out how to do that. To figure out how to be enough without somebody else needing me. Without having to fix somebody else." I take her hand in mine and stare at it. Not for the first time, I wish I wasn't such a fucking mess. Touching Jamie, holding her hand, being close to her? It's the best feeling I've had in a long time. Like my chest, and every chaotic pounding inside of it, just knows that it's okay to settle down. That she gets it, and it's okay to just be still for a minute.

She's not unlike me. We're both damaged. Both broken. But ya know what? We're both ready to be fixed. And I think we're both realizing, maybe for the first time, that nobody else can do that for us. That immersing ourselves in somebody even more fucked up than we are isn't helping anything at all. "It's a shame," she finally whispers as her head falls against my shoulder.

"What is?" I ask, feeling the calm wash over me in waves. This feels right. Hopeful. Like I might actually be okay after all. I guess the first step to recovery really is admitting that there is a problem.

With a gentle sigh, Jamie burrows her head even deeper into my neck. "I'm all single now, and you're not available. Timing's never really been my strong suit."

I can't help the laugh that escapes my throat at her statement. Now she wants to flirt? Even though I know she's kidding, I can't help feeling somewhat buoyed by the soft smile in her voice. "Tell you what," I start, winding my arm around her waist. "Once I figure out how to be boring Clark Kent for awhile, I'll look you up. See where you're at. Maybe we'll be ready for each other then?"

She pulls away, just enough to look into my eyes and shakes her head. "I don't like that plan. How 'bout we keep in touch along the way - I mean, since we're gonna see each other at work all the time or whatever anyway. If you need somebody to talk to? I'm your girl. If I need somebody, you're my guy," she proposes.

Is the first step to recovery admitting that there is a problem? Or is it admitting that you need help? That you really can't do it alone? Because everybody keeps telling me that I need to fix myself, but I know me. And I know that Jamie's right. I'm gonna need somebody to talk to. Somebody other than Cena. Somebody who really gets it. Who's been there. Somebody like her. "I like that plan," I smile and hug her back to my side again.

For a long moment, we say nothing, only sit in the hopeful peace that envelopes us where complete despair had been before. And then she touches my cheek. "For the record, Randy Orton, you can figure out how to be Clark Kent, but you'll always be Superman to me."

Awe. She's sweet. My little Jamie is sweet. "That is," I start to express myself, but can't keep the laughter at bay. "Probably the corniest thing I have ever heard."


End file.
